"To be _caught_ killing them," interposed Marion, "but I have an idea that many a pigeon pie in Venice is indebted to these same pigeons of St. Mark's. But if you have nothing better, I will tell my story. It is simply that some carrier pigeons brought good news to Enrico Dandolo, the Crusader, when he was besieging Candia, and since that time these pigeons and their descendants have been under the special protection of the city."
"It is certainly great fun to feed them," said Muriel, "and if you come here often, you'll see all kinds of people doing it,--old and young, rich and poor. Why, I have seen a man sit for an hour by that pillar, feeding them."
"As your basket quite emptied itself when you let it fall, let us go over to one of those little tables outside the restaurant and have some tea. We may, may we not, Mademoiselle Potin? And you will join us?"
During the pleasant half hour spent over the tea and cakes, pigeon after pigeon approached them, looking, evidently, for stray crumbs. One was even so bold as to hop up on the table, and would not be driven away until Muriel had fed it.
"It is all delightful," said Irma, "only I must write to Tessie about these pigeons, and I have so much to do. I am growing selfish. The air of Venice makes me wish to do nothing but enjoy myself."
Later, when they went to the spot where the gondolas were waiting, they found that Muriel's hotel was in a different direction from theirs.
"Please come to see me to-morrow," she cried, as she glided away. "You know I cannot always do what I wish to."
"That means that perhaps her mother may not let her come to call on you," commented Marion.
Katie was on the balcony of the hotel, as they made their landing. She seemed surprised to see them. "I thought you were going to walk back," she said.
As she spoke, she put her hand to her collar. This attracted the attention of both Irma and Marion, and Irma saw that Katie wore around her tie the circlet with the dragon's head, and she could not help noticing a strange expression on Marion's face as he too observed it.
That very evening, when she and Aunt Caroline were alone, Irma remembered the question she had so often meant to ask about Marion.
"When we first left home," responded her aunt, "I could not have answered you. What I said might have prejudiced you against Marion. But things have changed, and even he could not object to my telling you now.