read."

He stirred uneasily. "Do you sit to him often?" he asked.

Her eyes dwelt for a moment on his face. "Not now," she replied.

He returned the look searchingly. "You are going to?"

"Yes," she assented.

He still held her eyes. "I don't like it," he said slowly.

The ghost of a smile came into her face. Her eyes danced in the shadow
of it. "No?" she said quietly.

"No!"

She waited, looking down and plucking at the silken fringe of her
bodice. "Why?" she asked after a time.

He made no reply.

She glanced up at him. He was looking away from her, across the gay
canal. His face had a gentle, preoccupied look, and his lip trembled.

Her glance fell. "Why not?" she repeated softly.

He looked down at her and his face flushed. "I don't know," he said. He
bent toward her and took the fan from her fingers.

She yielded it with half reluctance, her eyes mocking him and her lips
alluring.

He smiled back at her, shaking his head slightly and unfurling the fan.
He had regained his self-possession. He moved the fan gently, stirring
the red-gold hair and fluttering the silken fringe on her bodice. It
rose and fell swiftly, moved in the soft current of air. His eyes
studied her face. "Will you sit for me some day?" he said.

She nodded without speaking. The breath came swiftly between the red
lips and the eyes were turned away. They rested on the facade of a tall
building opposite, where a flock of doves, billing and cooing in the
warm air, strutted and preened themselves. Their plump and iridescent
breasts shone in the sun.

Her hand reached for the cithara at her side. "Shall I sing you their
song?" she said, "The Birds of Venus."

He smiled indulgently. Her voice crooned the words.

"Sing!" she said imperiously. He joined in, following her mood with
ready ease.

There was silence between them when the song was done. She sat with her
eyes half closed, looking down at the white hands in her lap.

He lifted one of them gently, his eyes on her face. She did not stir or
look up. He raised it slowly to his lips.

The warm breath stirred a smile on her face. She glanced at him from
under falling lids.

He dropped the hand and stood up with a half cry.

"I must go--Violante--I must--go!" He groped to where the doorway
opened, cool and dark, behind them, "I must go," he repeated vaguely.

She rose and came to him slowly. "You must go," she said softly.

They passed into the dark, open doorway.

Belo