to
die disgraced, I think we should go back to them and ask them whether
their minds were as pure and holy as he supposes.' Her French wits would
not be subdued. Nevil pointed to the palaces. 'Pride,' said she. He
argued that the original Venetians were not responsible for their
offspring. 'You say it?' she cried, 'you, of an old race? Oh, no; you do
not feel it!' and the trembling fervour of her voice convinced him that
he did not, could not.

Renee said: 'I know my ancestors are bound up in me, by my sentiments to
them; and so do you, M. Nevil. We shame them if we fail in courage and
honour. Is it not so? If we break a single pledged word we cast shame on
them. Why, that makes us what we are; that is our distinction: we dare
not be weak if we would. And therefore when Venice is reproached with
avarice and luxury, I choose to say--what do we hear of the children of
misers? and I say I am certain that those old cold Huguenot stonecutters
were proud and grasping. I am sure they were, and they shall share the
blame.'

Nevil plunged into his volume.

He called on Roland for an opinion.

'Friend,' said Roland, 'opinions may differ: mine is, considering the
defences of the windows, that the only way into these houses or out of
them bodily was the doorway.'

Roland complimented his sister and friend on the prosecution of their
studies: he could not understand a word of the subject, and yawning, he
begged permission to be allowed to land and join the gondola at a distant
quarter. The gallant officer was in haste to go.

Renee stared at her brother. He saw nothing; he said a word to the
gondoliers, and quitted the boat. Mars was in pursuit. She resigned
herself, and ceased then to be a girl.

CHAPTER VI

LOVE IN VENICE

The air flashed like heaven descending for Nevil alone with Renee. They
had never been alone before. Such happiness belonged to the avenue of
wishes leading to golden mists beyond imagination, and seemed, coming on
him suddenly, miraculous. He leaned toward her like one who has broken a
current of speech, and waits to resume it. She was all unsuspecting
indolence, with gravely shadowed eyes.

'I throw the book down,' he said.

She objected. 'No; continue: I like it.'

Both of them divined that the book was there to do duty for Roland.

He closed it, keeping a finger among the leaves; a kind of anchorage in
case of indiscretion.

'Permit me to tell you, M. Nevil, you are inclined to play