Mark's upon the
purple intensity of the sky!--through each phase of the hours and the
seasons,
rest is still the message of Venice, rest enriched with
endless images, impressions, sensations, that cost no trouble and breed
no pain.
It was this spell of rest that descended for a while on Kitty as they
glided downward to the Piazzetta. The terror of the day relaxed. Her
telegram would be in time; or, if not, she would throw herself into
William's arms, and he
must forgive her!--because she was so foolish
and weak, so tired and sad. She slipped her hand into Margaret's; they
talked in low voices of the child, and Kitty was all appealing
melancholy and charm.
At the Piazzetta there was already a crowd of gondolas, and at their
head the
barca, which carried the musicians.
"You are late, Kitty!" cried Madame d'Estrees, waving to them. "Shall we
draw out and come to you?--or will you just join on where you are?"
For the Vercelli gondola was already wedged into a serried line of boats
in the wake of the
barca.
"Never mind us," said Kitty. "We'll tack on somehow."
And inwardly she was delighted to be thus separated from her mother and
the chattering crowd by which Madame d'Estrees seemed to be surrounded.
Pages:
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492