"Si!" Luisa answered with ready acquiescence; "and on the way let us spend a little time at the Accademia—it has been long since I have seen the pictures of the great Titian and even Maria is quite old enough."
So it was settled, and the children talked of nothing else the rest of the evening, dropping off to sleep without once giving a thought to the lapping of the water.
When they woke, it was late; their mother had been up for a long time, getting everything ready for the day's excursion. Already the lunch-basket was packed, and as soon as the children were dressed and the breakfast eaten, it was time to start.
At first, Andrea walked with his mother, insisting upon carrying the basket, but after a little his arms became weary and, without expostulation, he allowed his father to take it from him, while he ran joyfully ahead, eager to catch a glimpse of the bronze horses, and dabble his fingers a few moments in the well with the bathing pigeons.
As for Maria, she was most conscious of the fact that she was six years old, and with shining eyes walked carefully by her mother's side. She wore a string of gay beads about her neck (a birthday gift from her father) and red tassels dangled bewitchingly from the tops of her new shoes.
It was only a ten-minutes walk from St. Mark's to the Accademia, and after a number of turns through one narrow calle after another, they came to the bridge that led directly to the entrance.
Maria was awed at the imposing doorway, but Andrea, boylike, marched in unabashed, and, after a cursory glance in various directions, declared himself ready to leave. He would far rather be outdoors and could scarcely wait to get on to the Lido.
"Not so soon, my lad, there is much that you should see." And, taking him by the hand, Giovanni led him into a great room with two immense pictures. One was the Assumption of the Virgin by the great Titian and before it even restless Andrea was stilled, feeling a little of the spell that has made of this place a world shrine for all lovers of art—the wonderful figure of the Virgin, in billowy robes, rising to heaven, while countless angels, each one seeming more adorable than the other, seem to bear her up in her glad flight.
"Listen," Luisa whispered, "do you not hear them singing 'Halleleujah'?"
There were other pictures in the same room, and one especially that interested Andrea. It was Tintoretto's Miracle of St. Mark, and he listened attentively as his father told the story: