He dropped the hand and stood up with a half cry.
"I must go—Violante—I must—go!" He groped to where the doorway opened, cool and dark, behind them, "I must go," he repeated vaguely.
She rose and came to him slowly. "You must go," she said softly.
They passed into the dark, open doorway.
Below, in the hot sun, the gondola rocked at the foot of the stairs.
IV
The noon-bell in the southern turret of the Fondaco chimed softly. A painter at work on the façade near by looked up inquiringly at the sun. He smiled absently to himself and, dropping his brushes, descended lightly from the scaffolding to the ground. He walked away a few steps—as far as the ground permitted—and turned to look at the work above.
"Not so bad," he murmured softly, "—not so bad ... and better from the water." He glanced at the canal below. A white hand from a passing gondola waved to him and motioned approvingly toward the colors of the great wall.