A year went by in these sweet works mixed with sweet illusions, and Francesco had just put the finishing touches to his work, when the most distressing and heartbreaking news came through the walls where the Dominicans were. The young Antonio Grimani, later admiral and doge of Venice, but already the most brilliant of its nobles and its highest hope, had just asked for the hand of Polia in marriage, and, it was added, the hand of Polia had been granted to him. It was the day that Francesco was to present his book to Polia. He stood up to the blow that had just struck him, went to her palazzo and stopped on the threshold of her apartment. "Come, my brother," said Polia when she saw him. "Come to communicate to us these secret wonders of your art, a true treasure that Christian humility refuses to the world, and which is to be confided only to us." At the same time she shooed away her women and her servants, and Francesco was alone with her. His legs gave way under him, a cold sweat broke out on his brow, his arteries beat violently, his breast swelled fit to burst. Polia raised her eyes from the manuscript to look at the monk. Francesco's pallor, the bloody halo girding his eyes worn out with crying, the shaking of his livid hands hanging loosely, revealed to her what was happening in the heart of her lover. She smiled proudly. "You have heard," she said, "of my forthcoming marriage with prince Antonio Grimani?" "Yes, madam," replied Francesco. "And what did you think, Francesco, of this alliance?" "That no man is worthy to contract such an alliance with you, but that the prince Antonio had more rights than anyone, and that the marriage appeared to be what Venice wanted... and what you yourself wanted. May it always bring you happiness!" "I refused it this morning," said Polia. Francesco looked at her as if to seek in Polia's eyes if her mouth had not betrayed her thought. "You know better than anyone," Polia went on, "that I have pledged my troth elsewhere and that my decision to do so is irrevocable. But I must forgive your suspicions for yours is guaranteed by the oath that binds you to an altar and I have never given you a guarantee like that. Listen, Francesco. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day you made your first vows, and it will be during the last morning mass that you will render them even more binding and more sacred by renewing them before the Lord. Have you, now a year has passed, changed your way of thinking about the nature of this sacrifice and the need for it?" "No, no, Polia!" cried Francesco, falling to his knees. "It is enough," continued Polia. "My thinking has not changed either. I shall be present tomorrow at the last morning mass, and I shall support with all the strength of my soul the vow that you will repeat then, so that henceforth you will know, Francesco, that between the heart of Polia and inconstancy there are also perjury and sacrilege."