Perhaps, too, he had
been moved with a vague hope that he might find the face he was seeking,
for he was used to fortunate happenings. But there were no waiting
Madonnas under the pergola, and the air of the early spring morning blew
chill from the Lido, almost with an intimation of failure to his
sensitive mood. He pushed aside an old _gransiere_, without the gift of
small coin that usually flowed so easily from his hand, for service
rendered or unrendered, as he impatiently questioned the gondoliers.
"One who knows Murano well!" he called.
There was an instant response from an old man almost past traghetto
service, but his age and probable garrulity commended him.
"I will take thee and thy gondola, since thou knowest Murano," said the
artist kindly; "but I must go swiftly, and I would not tax thee. Thou
shalt have thy fare, but I will pay for another gondolier also from the
traghetto; he must be young and lusty. Choose thou him--and hasten."
There was a babel of voices and a self-gratulatory proffer of lithe
forms, while the old gondolier turned undecidedly from one to another,
and the tottering gransiere ostentatiously protected the velvet mantle
of the artist as he sprang into the boat.
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