The gondola entered a canal enclosed between two green shores, which reached the line of vision so precisely that the numerous reeds were perceptible, the newer ones discernible by their paler tint.
From the fulness of her soul, and the abundance of her nature, La Foscarina sought everywhere for living things to love; her glance became child-like once more, and all things were reflected in it as in the peaceful water, and some seemed to reappear from the distant past, like apparitions.
When the gondola touched the shore, she was surprised at having arrived.
"Do you wish to land, or do you prefer to go back?" asked Stelio, coming out of his reverie.
For a moment she hesitated, because her hand lay in his, and to move would have meant a lessening of sweetness.
"Yes," at last she said, with a smile. "Let us walk on this grass a little while."
They landed on the Island of San Francesco. A few slender young cypress shrubs greeted them timidly. Not a human face was to be seen. The invisible myriad filled the desert with their canticle of praise. The mists rose in clouds near the sunset hour.
"How many times we have walked together on the grass, have we not, Stelio?"
"But now comes the steep rock," he replied.