The Count yielded
reluctantly; but as they came out again on the square they were
caught in a great throng pouring toward the doors of the cathedral.
"They go to Benediction," said the Count. "A beautiful sight, with
many lights and flowers. It is a pity you cannot take a peep at it."
Tony thought so too, and in another minute a legless beggar had
pulled back the leathern flap of the cathedral door, and they stood
in a haze of gold and perfume that seemed to rise and fall on the
mighty undulations of the organ. Here the press was as thick as
without; and as Tony flattened himself against a pillar, he heard a
pretty voice at his elbow:--"Oh, sir, oh, sir, your sword!"
He turned at sound of the broken English, and saw a girl who matched
the voice trying to disengage her dress from the tip of his
scabbard. She wore one of the voluminous black hoods which the
Venetian ladies affected, and under its projecting eaves her face
spied out at him as sweet as a nesting bird.
In the dusk their hands met over the scabbard, and as she freed
herself a shred of her lace flounce clung to Tony's enchanted
fingers. Looking after her, he saw she was on the arm of a
pompous-looking graybeard in a long black gown and scarlet
stockings, who, on perceiving the exchange of glances between the
young people, drew the lady away with a threatening look.
The Count met Tony's eye with a smile. "One of our Venetian
beauties," said he; "the lovely Polixena Cador. She is thought to
have the finest eyes in Venice.
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