In the great Council Chamber of the Ducal Palace they looked at the seventy-six portraits of the ill.u.s.trious succession of Doges--with the one tragic vacant s.p.a.ce, the missing portrait of Marino Faliero, the Rienzi of Venice, the man before his time.

"It seizes one's heart, doesn't it?" said the Princess, with her impulsive touch on his sleeve. "All these men were kings--sovereigns of a mighty nation. And how like they are to one another--in this essential quality one would say they were brothers of a great family."

"Why, yes," he cried, scanning the rows of severe and subtle faces.

"It's true. Illuminatingly true."

He slid up his wrist quickly so that his hand met hers; he held it.

"How swift your perception is! And what is that quality--that quality common to them all--that quality of leadership? Let us try to find it."

Unconsciously he gripped her hand, and she returned his pressure; and they stood, as chance willed it, alone, free from circ.u.mambulant tourists, in the vast chamber, vivid with Paul Veronese's colour on wall and ceilings, with Tintoretto and Ba.s.sano' with the arrogant splendour of the battles and the pomp and circ.u.mstance of victorious armies of the proud and conquering republic, and their eyes were drawn from all this painted and riotous wonder by the long arresting frieze of portraits of serene, masterful and subtle faces.

"The common factor--that's what we want, isn't it?"

"Yes," she breathed.

And as they stood, hand in hand, the unspoken thought vibrating between them, the memory came to him of a day long ago when he had stood with another woman--a girl then--before the photographs in the window of the London Stereoscopic Company in Regent Street, and he had scanned faces of successful men. He laughed--he could not help it--and drew his Princess closer to him. Between the a.n.a.logous then and the wonderful now, how immense a difference! As he laughed she looked swiftly up into his face.

"I know why you laugh."

"No, my Princess. Impossible."

"Mais oui. Tell me. All these great princes"--she swept her little gloved hand toward the frieze. "What is their common factor?"

Paul, forgetful of his mirth, looked round. "'Indomitable will," said he seriously. "Unconquerable ambition, illimitable faith. They all seem to be saying their creed. 'I believe in myself almighty, and in Venice under my control, and in G.o.d who made us both, and in the inferiority of the remnant of the habitable globe.' Or else: 'In the beginning G.o.d created Venice. Then He created the rest of the world. Then He created Me. Then He retired and left me to deal with the situation.' Or else: 'I am an earthly Trinity. I am myself. I am Venice. I am G.o.d.'"

"It is magnificent!" she cried. "How you understand them! How you understand the true aristocratic spirit! They are all, what you call, leaders of men. I did not expect an a.n.a.lysis so swift and so true. But, Paul"--her voice sank adorably--"all these men lack something--something that you have. And that is why I thought you laughed."

He smiled down on her. "Do you think I was measuring myself with these men?"

"Naturally. Why should you not?" she asked proudly.

"And what have I got that they lack?"

"Happiness," said the Princess.

Paul was silent for a while, as they moved slowly away to the balcony which overlooks the lagoon and San Giorgio Maggiore glowing warm in the sunshine, and then he said: "Yet most of those men loved pa.s.sionately in their time, and were loved by beautiful women."

"Their love was a thing of the pa.s.sions, not of the spirit. You cannot see a woman, that is to say happiness, behind any of their faces."

He whispered: "Can you see a woman behind mine."

"If you look like that," she replied, with a contented little laugh, "the whole world can see it." And so their talk drifted far away from Doges, just as their souls were drifting far from the Golden Calf of the Frank and Loyal Friendship which Sophie the Princess had set up.

How could they help it--and in Venice of all places in the world? If she had determined on maintaining the friendship calm and austere, why in Minerva's name had she bidden him hither? Sophie Zobraska pa.s.sed for a woman of sense. None knew better than she the perils of moonlit ca.n.a.ls and the sensuous splash of water against a gondola, and the sad and dreamy beauty which sets the lonely heart aching for love. Why had she done it? Some such questions must Mademoiselle de Cressy have asked, for the Princess told him that Stephanie had lectured her severely for going about so much in public alone with a beau jeune homme.

"But we don't always want Stephanie with us," she argued, "and she is not sympathetic in Venice. She likes restaurants and people. Besides, she is always with her friends at Danielli's, so if it weren't for you I should be doing nothing all by myself in the lonely palazzo.

Forcement we go about together."

Which was all sophistical and nonsensical; and she knew it, for there was a mischievous little gleam in her eye as she spoke. But none the less, shutting her ears to the unsympathetic Stephanie, did she continue to show herself alone in public with the beautiful youth. She had thrown her crown over the windmills for a few happy days; for a few happy days she was feeding her starved nature, drinking in her fill of beauty and colour and the joy of life. And the pair, thus forcibly thrown together, drifted through the narrow ca.n.a.ls beneath the old crumbling palaces, side by side, and hand in hand while Giacomo and Felipe, disregarded automata, bent to their oars.

One afternoon, one mellow and memorable afternoon, they were returning from Murano. Not a breath of wind ruffled the lagoon. The islands in their spring verdure slumbered peacefully. Far away the shipping in the bacino lay still like enchanted craft. Only a steamer or two, and here and there the black line of a gondola with its standing, solitary rower, broke the immobility of things. And Venice, russet and rose and grey, brooded in the sunset, a city of dreams. They murmured words of wonder and regret. Instinctively they drew near and their shoulders touched. Their clasp of fingers tightened and their breath came quickly, and for a long time they were silent. Then at last he whispered her name, in the old foolish and inevitable way. And she turned her face to him, and met his eyes and said "Paul," and her lips as she said it seemed to speak a kiss. And all the earth was wrapped in glory too overwhelming for speech.

It was only when they entered the Grand Ca.n.a.l and drew up by the striped posts of the palazzo that she said: "I have those Roman people and the Heatherfields coming to dinner. I wish I hadn't." She sighed.

"Would you care to come?"

He smiled into her eyes. "No, my Princess, not to-night. I should do silly things. To-night I will go and talk to the moon. To-morrow, when can I come?"

"Early. As early as you like."

And Paul went away and talked to the moon, and the next morning, his heart tumultuous, presented himself at the palazzo. He was shown into the stiff Italian drawing-room, with its great Venetian gla.s.s chandelier, its heavy picture-hung walls, its Empire furniture covered in yellow silk. Presently the door opened and she entered, girlish in blouse and skirt, fresh as the morning. "Bon jour, Paul. I've not had time to put on my hat, but--"

She did not end, for he strode toward her and with a little laugh of triumph took her in his arms and kissed her. And so what had to be came to pa.s.s.

CHAPTER XVI

"I LOVE you too much, my Sophie, to be called the Princess Zobraska's husband."

"And I love you too much, dear, to wish to be called anything else than Paul Savelli's wife."

That was their position, perfectly defined, perfectly understood. They had arrived at it after many arguments and kisses and lovers'

protestations.

"Such as I am I am," cried Paul. "A waif and stray, an unknown figure coming out of the darkness. I have nothing to give you but my love."

"Are there t.i.tles or riches on earth of equal value?"

"But I must give you more. The name Paul Savelli itself must be a t.i.tle of honour."

"It is becoming that," said the Princess. "And we can wait a little, Paul, can't we? We are so happy like this. Ah!" she sighed. "I have never been so happy in my life."

"Nor I," said Paul.

"And am I really the first?"

"The first. Believe it or not as you like. But it's a fact. I've told you my life's dream. I never sank below it; and that is why perhaps it has come true."

For once the a.s.sertion was not the eternal lie. Paul came fresh-hearted to his Princess.

"I wish I were a young girl, Paul."

"You are a star turned woman. The Star of my Destiny in which I always believed. The great things will soon come."

They descended to more commonplace themes. Until the great things came, what should be their mutual att.i.tude before Society?

"Until I can claim you, let it be our dear and beautiful secret," said Paul. "I would not have it vulgarized by the chattering world for anything in life."