nd good Father Garola stepped
down and took their hands; and two candles were lighted and a little
bell rang; and then somebody signed a book--somebody with the bearing
of a prince--Borodini, I think--and then Luigi, his rich, sunburned
face and throat in contrast with his white shirt, moved up and affixed
his name to the register; and then a door opened on the side and they
all went out into the sunlight.

I followed and watched the gay procession on its way to the waiting
boats. As I neared the corner of the church a heavily-built young
fellow ran past me, crouched to the pavement, and hid himself behind
one of the tall columns. Something in his dress and movement made me
stop. Not being sure, I edged nearer and waited until he turned his
head. It was Francesco.

III

The skies were never more beautiful that May, the blossoms of the
oleanders and the almond trees never more lovely. Not only was my own
canal alive with the stir and fragrance of the coming summer, but all
Venice bore the look of a bride who had risen from her bath, drawn
aside the misty curtain of the morning, and stood revealed in all her
loveliness.

The sun shone everywhere, I say, but to me its brightest rays fell on a
garden full of fig trees and flat arbors interwoven with grapevines,
running down to the water where there was a dock and a gondola--two,
sometimes,--our own and Vittorio's--and particularly on a low,
two-story, flat-roofed house,--a kaleidoscope of color--pink, yellow,
and green, with three rooms and a portico, in which lived Vittorio, a
bird in a cage, a kitten-cat and the Rose of the Shipyards.

It is a long way round to my canal through San Trovaso to the Zattere
and across the Giudecca to Ponte Lungo, and then along the edge of the
lagoon to this garden and dovecote, but that is the precise route
Luigi, who lived within a stone's throw of the couple, selected morning
after morning. He always had an excuse:--he had forgotten the big
bucket for my water cups, or the sail, or the extra chair; and would
the Signore mind going back for his other oar? Then again the tide was
bad, and after all we might as well row down the lagoon; it was easier
and really shorter with the wind against us--all nonsense, of course,
but I never objected.

"Ah, the Signore and dear Luigi!" she would cry when she caught sight
of our gondola rounding into the landing. Then down the path she would
skip, the joyous embodiment of beauty and grace, a