The morning call., 1891-09-13
Love IN A
VENETIAN GONDOLA.
Sentiment and Day Dreams While Sailing
Ger the Water.
Meditations Called For by Volume Of Tales
An Ingeniously Made Confession.
Special to THE SUNDAY CALL

ing, like an amateur smitten with charm
ing work. the marvels of which lie was
lighting up little by little.
Now it was upon the gilded globe Of Be-
noniS monument that he spread his bright
light; then he Illuminated the graceful
cupoia of Santa Maria della Salute, threw
his rays obliQuely over the Grand Canal and
worked into luminous reliefs and blaekened
old marble OF all these adorable Venetian
palaces From time to time some early
gond0la cleft the silent water. while the
"barcallolo," standing at the stern, bent
over his oars and sent ont at intervals his
hOarSe, somewhat savage cry, stall! pre-
mel giap'
Before going down to the gondola that
awaited her in front Of the peristyle of the
Grand Hotel. Maria paused to take long
look at her dear Adriatic her beloved Ven
ice. She stood motionless, breathing the
damp and salt air that penetrated her
lungs, enllvened her, gave her a feeling OF
unconscious JOY that she had not expert
enced Tor many years. Finally, deciding to
90, she signed TO the boatman to bring the
gondola nearer, sprang lightly into il with
out accepting the aid offered her, and sat
down upon the back seat after having ex-
acted that the "felge," that lugubri0us lit
tie black capote serving as reef 10 the We
netlan baTKS, should be removed.
AN OMEN OF EVIL.
AS she moved to place on the leather-cov-
cred bench the packet of books, letters and
newspapers she carried with her, Maria al
lowed 10 slip from her ungloved hand ring
grown too large for her wasted fingers; it
was small pearl without great value; IL
fell upon the edge OF the skiff and rc0chet-
ted into the water. Like all women. Maria
was superstitious. She turned pale, but,
making an effort to control her weakness.
said, nth a smile:
"Bahl Ii the Adriatic has fallen as low
as TO want my ring after that of the doges,
she can keep i'll" Then she cried in dialect
to the boatman: "To Murano! We have
already lost too much time; the sun will
soon be inSupportable."
1t was towaid the close of September, and
yet Maria was right to fear the heat III the
marvellous climate of Italy summer is slow
to flee away; there are June days in the
midst of the month of October.
She gradually grew calm, although a
feVerlSh trembling remained on her fingers
she quickly broke open and rapidly read
those dear and numerous letters tnat had
SO long awaited her. All those she loved
were well. All how foolish she was to be
thus disturbed ior a superstition-and the
young woman shrugged her shoulders as
she thought of that childishness. She had
given Venice as her address for several
weeks past, while she had delayed her re-
turn in order to viSit LombaTdy. Returned
the previous day only, she had demanded
her letters, bHt they had not been given her
until they arose that morning. Godsi how
good it Is to be treasured after having had
fear, to laugh alter having wept Maria
was ike child who sees in broad day the
pastebUard animal il had taken for wolf
in the darkness.
THE PROCESSION OF GoNDoLAs.
She leaned upon the cushions OF the gon-
dOa and allowed to drag in the water, as II
to enjoy its GOODNESS, the TIPS of her inert
fingers. Sometimes her hand encountered
Il marine alga, that she uplifled III the air
without other aim than to throw it further
away in order TO see it drift about, drawn
| along by the current and the rising tide.
Maria saw Venice awake-the gondolas
| come and go, some carrying fruit and vege-
tables to the Rialto. others less harmonious
in color, but animated, noisy, full Of bursts
| of laughter and song. bearing poor people
| to their toll
| She had at first pushed aside the news
| papers, but her glance falling, in spite of
| her, upon the packet, she discovered in the
midst of it an elegant paper-c0vered book.
| At the head of the cover, protluding from
| the wrapper, she read the authors name.
| Maria blushed profusely and instantly
| seized the volume.
'Who sent me this?" thought she, striv-
| ing 10 recognize the chirography in which
| And she turned the pages with interest,
| one after another, reading a few lines here,
few lines there, TOO much agitated TO
pause anywhere.
II was a collection of charming tales, and
| Maria well remembered the man who had
| one that bears my name" Aud she de.
| youred 1t to the end.
BACK TO THE PAST.
| She DO longer saw Venice. Her troubled
| eyes distinguished nothing of the external
| world but she went back very far into the
| past, away off ten years. Ten yearsi And
| yet she fouHd again, she thought she felt
again the agreeable, kindly warmth that
| filed the dear little salon of a grand hotel.
1t was toward the close of December and
| the winter was then very severe in Paris
! freezing weather, sleet storms long to be
| remembered But in that salon that she
had made heI own they cared but little
about the biting cold, because everybody
found ray of sunshine at the delightful
| hearth of frlendshlp-and among those be-
| loved beings, whom she saw again so dis
! tinctly, one appeared to her with the Strik-
| ing impression of palpable reality. he
| was, as in the past, standing before her,
and his noble and frank ccuntenance was
animated as at that period with the fire of
| an enthusiastic eloquence. Maria had
| given him almost at first sight her entire
affection-that is to say. her unconscious
love-for she understood it now on finding
in those touching lines the tardy con-
| fesson of an unknown passion-she had
loved him then with all the strength of her
soul, with all the tenderness OF which she
was capable. But now life had broken her,
poor Maria and big scalding tears fell
heavily upon the characters that her emo
ton rendered illegible.
Then the vision continued. At that time
she was accustomed while he talked-an ell
bow leaning upon the marble mantel-piece,
| his slender, somewhat delicate silhouette
standing out darkly against the brightness
| of the hearth-to confound tho young con-
verSatiOnalist in an imaginary group with a
gentle female figure that bent toward him
| from the top of an elevated pedestal; IL was
| q terra-colta bust representing La Patrie, "
| after James Pradier, and was also the only
companion that Maria found worthy of heI
| frieGd-perhaps, to speak the truth, the
| only one she did not fear; she vaguely felt
that he had consecrated to her his toll. his
eloquence, his strength and his entire ex-
| istence. She thought he was so grand, Sc
| grand-her friendi She did not think that
he trod the earth or that he could walk be.
side her-Maria-sucha an insignificant girl
THE CONFESSION.
With great sadness she had gone away,
| continuing her wanderings about the world,
asking herself why other men resembled
| him so little, why they all spoke a tongue
| she did not understand, why, finally, she
was already so weary, so sad, so helplessl
They had never again seen each other
| since, and new, after ten years OF absence.
of uninterrupted silence. he had just simply
said to her, through the touching medium
of this little book, admired by all, and that
she alone understood:
Il have loved you for an age; you are
free yet, l have not changed, return to me" {"
An, how he said It'll How he knew how
to write it, with his marvellous talent. now
deIicately chiseled, now excited, almost vin-
| lent, like beautiful bronze nodded by
Barge. And Maria's heart beat as if il
would break, full of an inexplieable feeling,
of wild regret for the past. Of secret
terror for the future.
But there was time enough yet. Would
she not forget everything besides this great
love? oh, how she would love him for so
much fdelity-how tender, devoted. sub
missive she would bel How she would
take care Of him-for excess of toll, long
vigils had undermined his artistic nature
they said he was in very i'll health She,
| his friend, would cure himi They would
| go in search Of health for both Of them, she