it. At first, as we have said, the
garden was a solitude. Soon, however,--as Giovanni had half hoped, half
feared, would be the case,--a figure appeared beneath the antique
sculptured portal, and came down between the rows of plants, inhaling
their various perfumes as if she were one of those beings of old
classic fable that lived upon sweet odors. On again beholding Beatrice,
the young man was even startled to perceive how much her beauty
exceeded his recollection of it; so brilliant, so vivid, was its
character, that she glowed amid the sunlight, and, as Giovanni
whispered to himself, positively illuminated the more shadowy intervals
of the garden path. Her face being now more revealed than on the former
occasion, he was struck by its expression of simplicity and
sweetness,--qualities that had not entered into his idea of her
character, and which made him ask anew what manner of mortal she might
be. Nor did he fail again to observe, or imagine, an analogy between
the beautiful girl and the gorgeous shrub that hung its gemlike flowers
over the fountain,--a resemblance which Beatrice seemed to have
indulged a fantastic humor in heightening, both by the arrangement of
her dress and the selection of its hues.

Approaching the shrub, she threw open her arms, as with a passionate
ardor, and drew its branches into an intimate embrace--so intimate that
her features were hidden in its leafy bosom and her glistening ringlets
all intermingled with the flowers.

"Give me thy breath, my sister," exclaimed Beatrice; "for I am faint
with common air. And give me this flower of thine, which I separate
with gentlest fingers from the stem and place it close beside my heart."

With these words the beautiful daughter of Rappaccini plucked one of
the richest blossoms of the shrub, and was about to fasten it in her
bosom. But now, unless Giovanni's draughts of wine had bewildered his
senses, a singular incident occurred. A small orange-colored reptile,
of the lizard or chameleon species, chanced to be creeping along the
path, just at the feet of Beatrice. It appeared to Giovanni,--but, at
the distance from which he gazed, he could scarcely have seen anything
so minute,--it appeared to him, however, that a drop or two of moisture
from the broken stem of the flower descended upon the lizard's head.
For an instant the reptile contorted itself violently, and then lay
motionless in the sunshine. Beatrice observed this remarkable
phenomenon a