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Gabriele, the jilted lover of Toinetta, over whom Piero had triumphed,
soon became the husband of another _donzel_, handsomer than Toinetta had
been--poor, foolish Toinetta!--and the retributive tragedy of her little
life had warmed the sullen Gabriele into a magnanimity that rendered him
at least a safe, if a moody and unpleasant, member of the traghetto in
which Piero had since become a rising star. A man with a home to keep
may not "cast away his chestnuts," and so when Piero, in that masterful
way of his, swept everything before him in the traghetto--never asking
nor caring who stood for him or against him, but carrying his will
whenever he chose to declare it--to set one's self against such a man
was truly a useless sort of fret, only a "gnawing of one's chain," in
the expressive jargon of the people.
Piero finished his song, and there was a little pause. They were nearing
the long, low line of Murano.
"It is not easy," he said, "when women are in the way, 'to touch the sky
with one's finger.


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