The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1898-04-10

Our balconies lay as close together as
two peas in a pod. I used to tell my
self sometimes that il would be the easi-
est thing in the world to step across the
intervening baIustrade of marble and TO
sit at the feet of Blanca. But then-1
did not know her, and even in Italy there
is a law which sanctifes other peoples
balconies.
did not know Blanca, certainly; she
was an utter stranger to me. 1t is true
that there were days when we sat long,
interchanging those fugitive messages
which only great sympathy can compel
the eyes 10 speak. Then would say as
plainly as possible, You are pretty
child. worthy of this Venice which gave
you birth" She In turn would drop the
needles from her hands to answer mute
ly: Il am perfectly aware of that, but
we are strangers" At other times she
would turn her back upon the house Of
Caldogno where I lodged. and never once
the long day through remember that an
Englishman had come to the Rio de San
Lorenzo Those were the moments when
1 decided that Bianca's hair was red and
that her age was 90
1 had been in Venice month, sent there
by a farseeing editor in London to describe
for him the precise circumstances unoer
which Orso Cicogna, the tool of Crispi
was to be assassinated by the workmen
of the arsenal. The errand was not lit
tie remarkable; insomuch as Orso was still
alive and very active in reforming those
abuses which Rome declared were spoil
ing the 4,50O workmen in the ship-build-
ing yard. But we knew that such state
of things could not last. Your italian la
borer accepts no mean in politics. If he
be In accord with you, he viii rend the
air with vivas. If he differ from you, there
is the stiletto In this case his difference
of opinion with the agent of the govern
ment was so pronounced that IL did not
require a deep prophetic insight to fore
tell the result. We were sorry for orso-
that was all. We had his obituary no.
tees ready, so TO speak; and 1 was sent
to Venice to round off the corners, be-
ing reminded by my editor that time Is
money.
This is a sentiment which has always
seemed to me wrong TO the point of exas-
peration. Time which is money is no time
at all Sitting upon my balcony, with BIZ
ancas dark eyes flashing upon me ever
and anon like welcome search light from
the sea, I found 1t an absurd conclusion.
And after all, I could not hasten things
at the arsenal. Impossible for me to urge
upon the 1850 malcontents the necessity
of dispatching their enemy quickly in or
der that l might finish my article and
return TO London; futile to assure my chief
in answer to his repeated question What
are you doing? that l was sitting at the
feet Of Blanca. Loves labor lost can be
of no possible interest to your news edi-
tor-unless it be lost in the divorce court.
Blanca used to come out on her balcony
at 10 O'clock in the morning. l do not
care to be forestalled by a woman; and
for that reason alone was ever at my own
window at a quarter before the hour. A
mere observer might have thought our
mute courtesies ridiculous. She with her
knitting, / with my books and letters-we
bowed gravely and took our places. Had
Blanca chosen the evening hour for so
pleasant an occupation, it is possible that
we should have abridged the distance be-
tween the balconies more swiftly. AS it
was / waited a month for the occa sion,
and owed Ii at last to the wind; to a life
giving sweet breeze of spring, making lit
tie waves lap against the rivR of the
house, casting blossoms from the gardens
upon the pure air, above all blowing a
paper from the hand of Blanca straight
upon my balcony. Admirable wind. We
were discussing the world and each other
before the minute hand upon my watch
had come round again.
"A hundred thanks, Signore."
per nulla. 1 thank the breeze, Sig
norman"
You are staying long in Venice, Sig
nore?"
l drew my chair to the balustrade and
leaned upon 1t.
'As long as my friends, new and old,
remain here, Signorina."
you love my city?'
ooh, Signorina, can you ask me that
when I am talking to you?'
She blushed deeply, the color showing
even under her rich dark skin In that
moment, altered my opinion about Bian-
cas- hair. 1t was not red, but auburn
And her age could not have been more
than eighteen.
Love Venice!" I continued presently
seeing that she had no word of answer 10
me compliment us not that to love all
the color of life, to know all the low of
life, to be carried out of the world TO the
islands of rest. Indeed, l love Venice be-
yond any city have seen. and could be
very content, Signorina, TO live and die
here"
She shook her head doubtingly.
You think so now she said but wait
a month, a year The color you speak of
will be faded then; the sirocco will blow:
you will be like a Gagged bird that would
lift its wings and fly across the waters
! am in Venice always. and 1 know. NV
life is all rest, and l hear nothing but the
bells and the sound of the waters 1 have
no mother Signore."
She spoke pathetically looking dreamily
away to the old bridge and the green gar
den beyond. The role of comforter is
pleasing to man; the word of sympathy
is easy to be found
Nevertheless" said l. there must be
many in the city to love- Blanca
She laughed, tossing her curls back upon
her pretty shoulders.
Indeed" she said, there Is only nv
father. and he is at the arsenal ali dav.
You have heard of Silvestro Celsi, Sig
more? They call him Silvestro the Mag
nificent. and he Is worthy of IT, have his
love always-but he has no time excant
for his books and his papers He goes
with the sun and comes with the night. I
sit here all day, and imagine what il n,ust
be to cross the mountains and see the
world beyond. The house is my prison
and the old dame, Nina, Is my Tailor