was sitting in a chair when I went in,--bolt up;
she had not been in her bed. She seems like one in
a trance--looked at me and held out her hand. I
tried to talk to her and tell her it was all a lie,
but she only answered--'Ask Francesco,--it is
all Francesco,--ask Francesco.' Hurry, Signore,--
we will miss her if we go to her house. We will
go at once to our canal and wait for her. They have
heard nothing down there at San Giuseppe, and you
can talk to her without being interrupted, and then
I'll get hold of Vittorio. This way, Signore."

I had hardly reached the water landing of my canal
ten minutes later when I caught sight of her, coming
directly toward me, head up, her lips tight-set, her
black shawl curving and floating with every movement
of her body--(nothing so wonderfully graceful and
nothing so expressive of the wearer's moods as these
black shawls of the Venetians). She wore her gala
dress--the one in which she was married--white
muslin with ribbons of scarlet, her wonderful hair
in a heap above her forehead, her long gold earrings
glinting in the sunshine. All the lovelight had died
out of her eyes. In its place were two deep hollows
rimmed about by dark lines, from out which flashed
two points of cold steel light.

I sprang from my gondola and held out my hand:

"Sit down, Loretta, and let me talk to you."