"Why don't you walk all over me?" growled Merrihew. "Sit down!"
"Be still!" said Hillard roughly.
From a gondola on the far side of the barge, standing out of the press and just beyond the radiance of the lanterns, never powerful at best, came another voice, a voice which had a soul in it, a voice which broke into song for the pure joy of it, spontaneously. Clear, thrilling, a voice before which the world bows down. The prima donna in the barge was clever; she stopped. The tenor went on, however, recognizing that he was playing opposite, as they say, to a great singer. Hillard's heart beat fast. That voice! There could not be another like it. And she was here in Venice!
"Achille," he said, "do you hear that voice over there in the dark?"
"Yes, signore."
"Push round to it. See, the singer is standing up now. Hurry!"
This sounded important, and Merrihew scrambled to his feet. Yes, he, too, could see this unexpected cantatrice. In fact, everybody was beginning to stand up. All interest was centered in this new voice. Then, as if conscious of this interest, the singer sat down, but still kept to the melody. Achille backed out of the jam, stole round the barge, and craftily approached the outstanding gondola. The two men still remained on their feet.
"Quick, Achille!" For the far gondola was heading for the Grand Canal.
Merrihew understood now. He grasped Hillard's arm excitedly.
"Follow!" commanded Hillard. "Ten lire if you can come up alongside that gondola. Can you see the number?"