nd coral under the sea?"

"The cornice does look as if it were the spray of the sea, tossing up
precious stones from buried treasures beneath the waves," he answered.
"But you're right. We've got the key of the rainbow, and we can go in."

I walked beside him, awe-struck, as if I were passing under a spell.
There could be no other building so beautiful in the world, and it was
harder than ever to realize that man had created it. The golden mosaic
of the domed roof, arching above the purple-brown of the alabaster
walls, was like sunrise boiling over the massed clouds of a dark
horizon. Light seemed generated by the glitter of that mosaic; and the
small white windows of the dome gained such luminous blues and pale gold
glints, from sky without and opal gleams within, that they were changed
to stars. The pavement was opaline, too, with a thousand elusive tints
and jewelled colours, waving like the sea. It was all I could do not to
touch Mr. Barrymore's arm or hand for sympathy.

We didn't speak as we passed out. I was almost glad when the spell was
broken by the striking of the great, blue clock opposite San Marco, and
the slow procession of the life-size mechanical figures which only open
their secret door on fete days, such as this chanced to be.

Watching the stiff saints go through their genuflexions put me in a good
mood for an introduction to the pigeons, which I longed to have for
friends--strange little stately ruffling things, almost as mechanical in
their strut as the figures of the clock; so metallic, too, in their
lustre, that I could have believed them made of painted iron.

Some wore short grey Eton jackets, with white blouses showing behind;
these were the ladies, and their faces were as different as possible
from those of their lovers. So were the dainty little coral feet, for
alas! the masculine shoes were the pinker and prettier; and the males,
even the baby ones, were absurdly like English judges in wigs and gowns.

It was charming to watch the developments of pigeon love-stories on that
blue-and-gold day, which was my first in the Grand Piazza of San Marco.
How the lady would patter away, and pretend she didn't know that a
rising young judge had his eye upon her! But she would pause and feign
to examine a grain of corn, which I or some one else had thrown, just
long enough to give him a chance of preening his feathers before her,
spreading out his tail, and generally cataloguing his perfections. She