the tones
returned to him as he pondered, filled with a deeper melody than the
usual winning speech of the Venetian; with the grace of the soft dialect
there was a rare, unexpected quality, as if thought had formed the
undertone. He had never heard such a voice in the Piazza--it was rare
even in the palazzo; it was the voice of some sweet and gracious woman
with a soul too large for the world; it held a suggestion of peace and
convent bells and even-songs of nuns.

Then, still more passionately, the desire overcame him to paint that
face for his Madonna; he would never give it up! Yet this maiden was
not one of whom he could ask the favor that he craved, nor to whom he
could offer any return.

He had come to San Maurizio to take a gondola from the traghetto, partly
that he might be free to wander without comment wherever his search
should lead, partly because he was always ready for a chat with the
people; their experiences interested him, and he himself belonged by his
artist life, as by his sympathies, to all classes. Perhaps, too, he had
been moved with a vague hope that he might find the face he was seeking,
for he was used to fortunate happenings. But there were no waiting
Madonnas under the pergola, and the air of the early spring morning blew
chill from the Lido, almost with an intimation of failure to his
sensitive mood. He pushed aside an old _gransiere_, without the gift of
small coin that usually flowed so easily from his hand, for service
rendered or unrendered, as he impatiently questioned the gondoliers.

"One who knows Murano well!" he called.

There was an instant response from an old man almost past traghetto
service, but his age and probable garrulity commended him.

"I will take thee and thy gondola, since thou knowest Murano," said the
artist kindly; "but I must go swiftly, and I would not tax thee. Thou
shalt have thy fare, but I will pay for another gondolier also from the
traghetto; he must be young and lusty. Choose thou him--and hasten."

There was a babel of voices and a self-gratulatory proffer of lithe
forms, while the old gondolier turned undecidedly from one to another,
and the tottering gransiere ostentatiously protected the velvet mantle
of the artist as he sprang into the boat. With an impatient gesture the
Veronese indicated his choice, and they were soon on their way.

"Come hither, _vecchio mio_, and rest thine old bones; let the young one
work for us both," the padrone comman