at. A red light came from its
sides and surrounded it with flame: tall phantoms stood motionless on
the deck, and innumerable oars rose and fell in measure, striking the
water with a dreadful noise, while hollow voices chanted the _Dies Irae_,
accompanying themselves with the noise of chains.

"'O Life! O Life!' continued the unknown in a tone of despair. 'Oh,
Franz, here is the ship: dost thou recognize it?'

"'No: I tremble before this terrible apparition, but I do not know it.'

"'It is the Bucentaur: it is that which engulfed thy countrymen. They
were here in this same place, at this same hour, seated by my side in
this gondola. The ship approached as it is approaching now: a voice
cried to me, "Who goes there?" I answered, "Austrian." The voice cried
to me, "Dost thou hate or love?" I answered, "I hate;" and the voice
said to me, "Live!" Then the ship passed over the gondola, engulfed thy
compatriots, and bore me in triumph on the waves.'

"'And to-day?'

"'Alas! the voice is going to speak.'

"In fact, a lugubrious and solemn voice, imposing silence on the
funereal equipage of the Bucentaur, cried, 'Who goes there?'

"'Austrian,' replied the trembling voice of the unknown.

"A chorus of malediction burst from the Bucentaur, which approached with
ever-increasing rapidity. Then a new silence fell, and the voice
continued, 'Dost thou hate or love?'

"The unknown hesitated a moment, then in a voice thrilling like thunder
she cried out, 'I love.'

"Then the voice said, 'Thou hast accomplished thy destiny--thou lovest
Austria. Die, Venice!'

"A great cry, a heartrending, desperate cry, clove the air, and Franz
sank in the waves. On coming to the surface he saw nothing--neither the
gondola, the Bucentaur nor his beloved. Only on the horizon shone some
little lights: they were the famous lanterns of the fishermen of Murano.
He swam in the direction of the little isle, and arrived there at the
end of an hour. Poor Venice!"

Beppa had finished speaking: tears fell from her eyes. We watched them
flow in silence without seeking to console her. But suddenly she dried
them, and said to us with her capricious vivacity, "Well, what is the
matter with you that you are so sad? Is that the effect fairy-stories
produce upon you? Have you never heard of Orco, the Venetian Trilby?
Have you never met her at evening in the churches or on the Lido? She is
a good devil, who only does harm to oppressors and traitors. One may s