the Chauffeulier's absence nor
the Prince's presence could spoil for me the experience that followed.

Sunk deep in springy cushions, I half sat, half lay, while the bronze
statues swayed against the gold, softly plying their long oars, and
wafting me--_me_--to Venice.

I felt as if I were moving from the wings of a vast theatre onto the
stage to play a heroine's part. Evening bells, chanting a paen to the
sunset, floated across the wide water faint as spirit-chimes, and they
were the _leitmotif_ for my entrance.

"What a shame to be in motoring things!" I said to Beechy. "Women should
have special gondola dresses; I see that already--a different one each
day. I should like to have a deep crimson gown and a pale green
one--lilac too, perhaps, and sunrise-pink, all made picturesquely, not
in any stiff modern way."

"The costume of your Sisterhood would be pretty in a gondola," Beechy
answered. And again that coldness fell upon me which I always feel at a
reminder, intentional or unintentional, of the future. But the chill was
gone in a moment--lost in the luminous air, which had a strange
brilliancy, as if reflected from a stupendous mirror. I had never seen
anything even remotely resembling it before. It was as though we were
living inside a great opal, like flies in amber. And it seemed that in a
world so wonderful everything one did, or looked, or thought, ought to
be wonderful too, lest it should be out of tune with all surrounding
beauty.

Sea and sky were of one colour, except that the sea appeared to be on
fire underneath its glassy surface. The violet sky was strewn with blown
rose-petals and golden feathers; the tiny waves were of violet ruffled
with rose and gold, and spattered with jewelled sparks which might be
flashes from a Doge's vanished ring.

In the distance, sails of big ships were beaten into gold leaf by the
sinking sun; and nearer, there were other sails bright as flowers--a sea
picture-gallery of Madonnas, of arrow-wounded hearts, of martyred
saints, or bright-robed earthly ladies.

We were rowing straight into the sunset, straight into fairy-land, and I
knew it; but--what would happen when the rose-and-golden glory had
swallowed us up?

The sparkle of the water and air got into my blood, and I felt that it
must be sparkling too, like champagne. I was more alive than I had ever
been when I was on earth; for of course this was not earth--this Venice
to which I was going.

No other road