They came round the Patriarch's palace into the open square, whence the crowd had nearly all disappeared, dispersing in different directions.

Just as they were within sight of the great doors of the church, Beroviero saw a very tall man in a purple silk mantle going in alone.

It was Contarini, and Beroviero drew a little sigh of relief.

The intended bridegroom was punctual, but Beroviero thought that he might have shown such anxiety to see his bride as should have brought him to the door a few minutes before the time.
Marietta had drawn her veil across her face, leaving only her eyes uncovered, according to custom.
"It is hot," she complained.
"It will be cool in the church," answered her father.

"Throw your veil back, my dear--there is no one to see you." "There is the sun," she said, for she had been taught that one of a Venetian lady's chief beauties is her complexion.
"Well, well--there will be no sun in the church." And the old man hurried her in, without bestowing a glance upon the bronze horses over the door, to admire which he generally stopped a few moments in passing.
They entered the great church, and the servant went before them, dipped his fingers in the basin and offered them holy water.