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wings, depended from a chain of thick silver links. His leggings were black silk, his thick-soled black shoes were ornamented with ruby rosettes, and he carried a sword and a dagger; the appearance he presented was elegantly formidable as well as undoubtedly rich.
    “You do more than sing to sustain me,” she said, and blushed, her fingers fumbling on the keys.
    He bent down and kissed her brow. “And you give me more than music, carina.”
    Her blush deepened. “Di Santo-Germano … Patron mio … ” She could think of nothing to say, so she ran off several fragments of melodies.
    “I saw the proof pages of the book of your songs this morning, before I called upon Consiglier Arcibaldo Tedeschi.” He said this as if it had no particular significance, and gave her a soft look when she uttered a squeak of excitement and shot up from her bench.
    “How are they? Does it look well? Are the pages correct?” She spoke too rapidly for him to respond.
    “They look well,” he said as she gave a little bounce. “I saw no errors, but you must examine them yourself, and tell me if they are correct. It is your work and you deserve it to be accurate.” He smoothed her hair back from her brow. “Tomorrow, if you want to go to the press, I will arrange for a matron to accompany you.”
    She nodded twice. “Oh, yes, thank you. I would love to see how it looks. Mille, mille grazie.” She wrapped her arms around him, her head on his shoulder. “You are so good to me.”
    “It will take another two months before the volumes are ready to sell, even if there are only a few changes to be made,” he warned her, adding lightly, “By then, you should be used to the notion of your songs being available all through the Repubblica Veneziana.”
    “And the Papal States?” she asked eagerly.
    “If booksellers order the books, then there, or anywhere else, even the New World, in time, and from there, all around the world.” He found her enthusiasm touching, and so he added, “Be tranquil. Your work is excellent, Pier-Ariana. It will be well-received.”
    She frowned at once. “But if it is not, what then?”
    “The work speaks for itself. Anyone who dislikes it only shows he has a poor ear and pedestrian taste,” said di Santo-Germano. “Do not be daunted by the opinions of others; you haven’t been so far. Very few women ever attempt the sort of life you have chosen for yourself. You did not let the disapproval of others stop you before—do not do so now. You will know how well you have been received by how often you hear your songs sung.”
    Very slowly she nodded. “I suppose you’re right,” she allowed. “But if you find many who dislike my work, what will you do?”
    “I will assume our opinions are different, and our tastes in music,” said di Santo-Germano, kissing her lightly on the upper lip.
    “You will not become … disenchanted?” The anxiety in her eyes wrung his heart.
    “No. I may listen to the opinions of others, but I am not easily swayed. Your songs are very moving, and I put my trust in what moves me. Believe this, Pier-Ariana.” He held her close until the fear faded from her countenance. “I stand by what I print.”
    She laughed shakily. “I’m nervous,” she admitted.
    “Hardly surprising,” he said. “But I think there is no reason for it.”
    “You have to say that,” she remarked, her face tense.
    “It may seem so, but that isn’t the case.” He touched her hair again. “You mustn’t succumb to doubts now, carina.”
    “But that is all I have now: doubts, great masses of doubts.” Now that she admitted it, she very nearly collapsed. “I don’t know what to say to you, di Santo-Germano. You have been stalwart in your support, and I … I am afraid you have misplaced your certainty.”
    “I would not agree, but that— ”
    She attempted to laugh, backing away from him. “You are truly good to me, and I know how fortunate I am. You have done everything I could possibly ask