lining noon on the shores of Naples; never, till you have enjoyed it,
never, till you have felt its enervating but delicious charm, believe
that you can comprehend all the meaning of the Dolce far niente (The
pleasure of doing nothing.); and when that luxury has been known, when
you have breathed that atmosphere of fairy-land, then you will no longer
wonder why the heart ripens into fruit so sudden and so rich beneath the
rosy skies and the glorious sunshine of the South.

The eyes of the actress were fixed on the broad blue deep beyond. In the
unwonted negligence of her dress might be traced the abstraction of her
mind. Her beautiful hair was gathered up loosely, and partially bandaged
by a kerchief whose purple colour served to deepen the golden hue of her
tresses. A stray curl escaped and fell down the graceful neck. A loose
morning-robe, girded by a sash, left the breeze. That came ever and anon
from the sea, to die upon the bust half disclosed; and the tiny slipper,
that Cinderella might have worn, seemed a world too wide for the tiny
foot which it scarcely covered. It might be the heat of the day that
deepened the soft bloom of the cheeks, and gave an unwonted languor to
the large, dark eyes. In all the pomp of her stage attire,--in all the
flush of excitement before the intoxicating lamps,--never had Viola
looked so lovely.

By the side of the actress, and filling up the threshold,--stood
Gionetta, with her arms thrust to the elbow in two huge pockets on
either side of her gown.

"But I assure you," said the nurse, in that sharp, quick, ear-splitting
tone in which the old women of the South are more than a match for those
of the North,--"but I assure you, my darling, that there is not a finer
cavalier in all Naples, nor a more beautiful, than this Inglese; and I
am told that all these Inglesi are much richer than they seem. Though
they have no trees in their country, poor people! and instead of
twenty-four they have only twelve hours to the day, yet I hear that they
shoe their horses with scudi; and since they cannot (the poor heretics!)
turn grapes into wine, for they have no grapes, they turn gold into
physic, and take a glass or two of pistoles whenever they are troubled
with the colic. But you don't hear me, little pupil of my eyes,--you
don't hear me!"

"And these things are whispered of Zanoni!" said Viola, half to herself,
and unheeding Gionetta's eulogies on Glyndon and the English.

"Blessed Maria!