Venetian Masque

'They did not, my lord. They did not. How could they? I was so goaded that I spoke without considering the implications of what I said. I vow to God that I would be flayed for Venice as Brigadin was flayed at Famagosta. I have been taunted into hasty words that do not express my mind. It was never my intention to do more, sir, than plead with you; than beg you to consider whether what I have already done is not proof enough of my zeal; enough to entitle me to enter upon the great happiness, the great blessing to which you know that I aspire.'

Domenico would have answered him, but that he was stayed by his father. The Count spoke quietly, gently, but with a definite coldness.

'Had you confined yourself to pleading, Leonardo, I must have found it difficult to withstand you. But the expressions that you have used . . .'

'I have said, sir, that they do not represent my mind. I swear that they do not.'

'If I did not believe you, I should deny you my house after tonight. But words have been uttered which shake my faith in you, and something must remain of them. Enough to make me perceive that your marriage with Isotta should await the end of this sad struggle in which we are engaged. I owe this as much to Venice as to myself.'

Vendramin had cause to rage that his own folly and the astuteness of Domenico, by whom he knew himself to be disliked, should have encompassed his defeat. But at least he was in no worse case than he had been before making this attempt. It remained only to retire in good order. He bowed his head.

'I have deserved it, of course, and I must accept your decision, Lord Count. I shall study to make amends for tonight's impatience by my resignation to this postponement. I shall hope to deserve some credit in your eyes for that.'

The Count stepped up to him, and let his hand rest on his shoulder for a moment. 'We will forget all this, Leonardo. I think I understand. We will forget it.'

But from what followed when Vendramin had departed, Count Pizzamano did not look at all as if he had forgotten. In the chair which he had resumed he sat wrapped in gloomy thought whilst for a little spell Domenico silently observed him. At last the soldier spoke.

'You realize now, sir, I hope, to what manner of rascal you are marrying your daughter.'

The tone of the Count's answer was laden with weariness.

'I have counter-balanced all the shortcomings of which I have been aware in him by his ardent patriotism. But you surprised him into expressions which reveal this patriotism to be a sham, a posture assumed for profit by a man without loyalty and without conscience. Oh, yes, Domenico, I realize. But, as I told him, I must forget it. He has threatened us. His retraction counts for nothing. I am not a fool. He has shown me that, if I were to break off his engagement to Isotta, he would go over with his pestilent barnabotti to the already swollen ranks of the obstructionists, the Francophiles, the Jacobins. And I know, as you know, Domenico, that if this happened, with such a weakling as Lodovico Manin in the ducal seat, the doom of the Most Serene Republic would be written. Even if Bonaparte were defeated or were to spare us, we should still go the way of Reggio and Modena. Our traditions would be torn up, our dignity bespattered, and all that has made Venice glorious would be extinguished. A democratic government would follow, and the Tree of Liberty would be planted in Saint Mark's Square. That is the alternative which this scoundrel offers us. And it is an alternative which we cannot face.'

CHAPTER XVI THE DRAGON'S EYE

It was a subdued Vendramin who was to be seen at the Casa Pizzamano in the days that followed; a Vendramin in sackcloth and ashes seeking by humility to be taken back into the full favour he had earlier enjoyed. It helped him that Domenico was kept absent by his military duties. Francesco Pizzamano was by nature of that philosophical turn of mind which endeavours hopefully to colour the inevitable. In his manner there was never an echo of that painful scene. But at the same time there was now a chill upon the courtesy he extended to Vendramin. Sensing it, Vendramin was not quite happy. But it was the least of his worries. Financial difficulties which he had hoped to relieve by an early marriage grew daily more oppressive. The Vicomtesse, hitherto so liberal, displayed an increasing reluctance to untie her purse-strings. The dangers never absent from delay were magnified in Vendramin's mind by his abiding dread of the rivalry of Marc-Antoine. And then, quite suddenly, he was afforded evidence, not merely of the reality of this rivalry, but that it went to depths which he could never have suspected.

It happened one evening that whilst at her father's request Isotta was playing for them an air by Paisiello, Ser Leonardo wandered down the room to the harpsichord, to do her the little service of turning the sheet from which she was reading.