moonlight for a while, and listen to the music, and this, at least, was
_benissimo_ and commanded the gondolier's warmest approval.

Scarcely had Vittorio been thus pacified than the barge with its
dangling lanterns, beneath which the Colonel had seen his Polly safely
ensconced but a few minutes since, came floating out from a narrow
canal, and glided slowly along the Riva, past the Royal Gardens and the
Piazzetta, to the outermost of the great hotels. Sitting among the
"gallant hominies" was a figure in a sulphur shawl, with a cloud of
Spanish lace about the head, so ingeniously disposed that the features
were somewhat hidden, yet apparently with no intention of covering the
face.

"That looks like the Canti barge, Vittorio," the Colonel remarked. "Let
us go nearer and find out who is to do the singing. Do you know the
woman?"

"No, Signore. It is a stranger," Vittorio declared. "It is not a
Venetian."

"What makes you think so?"

"I do not know her face."

The sunset glow had quite faded from the sky and the great disk of the
moon hung like a luminous shield over beyond San Giorgio. Its wonderful
light, liquid and silvery as the water of the lagoons, flooded their
wide reaches, and touched with a soft splendour each sculptured facade
and arching bridge of the Riva, and the masts and hulls and loose-reefed
sails of a group of fishing boats lying close alongside the quay. Far up
the canal, a tenor voice could be heard, strong and melodious, and stray
gondolas were tending toward it.

Suddenly, more than one oar was stayed, and more than one face was
turned toward the Canti barge. The music had begun, with a familiar
Neapolitan melody, in which all the voices and instruments took part.
But high above them all rose a clear soprano, only the sweeter and the
richer for the dull rhythm of the lesser voices. One by one the receding
gondolas turned and came nearer, one bright eye gleaming at each prow,
as they stole like conspirators upon the gaily lanterned barge. And from
farther away still, from the Grand Canal and from the waters of the
Giudecca, black barks came floating, and silently joined the growing
throng. The chorus had sung twice, thrice, four times,--always the
popular airs, so familiar, yet to-night so new, by reason of the lift
and brilliancy of the leading voice.

[Illustration: "The Serenata"]

One of the men stepped across the Colonel's gondola and on from one to
another, hat in hand. "_Per la m