Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . , and pressed closer to her husband, whilst her large bright eyes glanced timidlyaround. Why is it all so black here ? she asked, half aloud. The walls, and the gon-dolas, and the water! Only look at those long trunks there under the cloth. They arejust like coffins ! Her husband comforted her smilingly and unloosed the little white hand with whichshe had grasped him. We saw her fingers move uneasily, and then again she gazedabout her, up at the walls of the houses, and down at the canal. Fiesco and the Moor were in Genoa, were they not ? Ah ! but there was
Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . , and pressed closer to her husband, whilst her large bright eyes glanced timidlyaround. Why is it all so black here ? she asked, half aloud. The walls, and the gon-dolas, and the water! Only look at those long trunks there under the cloth. They arejust like coffins ! Her husband comforted her smilingly and unloosed the little white hand with whichshe had grasped him. We saw her fingers move uneasily, and then again she gazedabout her, up at the walls of the houses, and down at the canal. Fiesco and the Moor were in Genoa, were they not ? Ah ! but there was a Moorof Venice, too. And—and the Bravo, hidden behind the door with his dagger ! The Professor grinned. The husband answered quietly, I almost believe you arefrightened ! Ah Maria ! The Italian matron from the provinces began to feel uneasy. Fear is infectious, andshe rolled her black eyes anxiously. It might, perhaps, have been better if her husband—whom in general she could very well dispense with, — had been with her; and. OF VENICE. 63 catching- the last words of the young bridegrooms sentence, she nodded her head andejaculated, Ave Maria ! At length a full stream of light poured out upon us from a doorway, and the boatstopped at the Albergo della Luna, With the agile strength common to Italian Facchini,the trunks were unloaded from the boat; we mounted the handsome staircase adornedwith green plants, and found no Bravo waiting for us behind the door ; in a word, all waswell again. Even the stout matron was satisfied that her husband had not accompaniedher after all, and she called out a smiling Felice notte ! to the young couple. The May sun was shining brilliantly when we entered the Piazza of St Mark thenext day. Who has not felt the enchantment of such sunshine, breathing of spring andmorning, penetrating the soul with an awakening power ? Now the dark veil was liftedthat lay last evening over Venice ; now the sea was blue, and the old grey blocks of stoneof whic
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Keywords: ., bookauthorcavagnasangiulianidig, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870
