A sudden flush flowed over that impassioned face. She was silent, but her breath came quick, and she half-closed her eyes.
"A warm current of air is passing," she said in a half whisper. "Did you not feel on the water an occasional breath of warmer air?"
She drew deep breaths.
"There is an odor like that of new-mown hay. Don't you detect it?"
"That is the odor that comes from the banks of seaweed that are beginning to be uncovered."
"See how beautiful the country is!"
"That is Le Vignole. Down there is the Lido. And over there is the Island of Sant' Erasmo."
The sun had now thrown aside its veil and was showering gold upon the estuary. The damp banks emerging from the fog suggested the opening of flowers. The shadows of the slender cypresses began to grow longer and of a deeper blue.
"I am certain," said La Foscarina, "that almond trees are in blossom somewhere near. Let us go on the dyke."