Without thanking him, she hurried on. Suddenly she paused, unable to resist the impulse to look back. He was still standing looking after her. She half turned to retrace her steps and thank him, when indignation seemed to paralyze her. What had she to say to a man who without the least shame could appear in public with---- Without further hesitation she returned to the hotel.
She slept badly that night. Her teeth chattered with fear at the thought of her adventure. And then--then, in spite of herself, she was vexed that she had said no friendly word to Lozoncyi: he had deserved some such at her hands. What was his private life to her? She recalled the handsome half-starved lad whom she had fed beside the gurgling brook. She longed to see him again. Half asleep, she turned her head uneasily on her pillow. The plashing of the water beneath her window sounded like a low, trembling sigh, and the sigh became a song. Nearer and nearer it sounded, insinuatingly sweet,--a song of Tosti's then in fashion. She heard only the refrain:
"Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie,
Toi, qui n'as pas d'amour?"
She sprang out of bed and threw open the window. Along the Grand Canal, illuminated by gay little lanterns, glided a gondola whence the song proceeded.
She leaned forward, but almost before she was aware of it the gondola had passed out of sight: it was nothing more in the distance than a shadow with a little dash of colour, and the sweet melody only a sigh slowly absorbed by the rippling waves.
She still stood at the window when all was silent again. All gone! all silent! Where the gondola had passed there lay a broad moon-glade upon the black water, and mingling with the swampy odour of the lagoon Erika could perceive the breath of spring.
She closed the window, and no longer heard even the plash of the water, or aught save the beating of her own heart.
CHAPTER XIX.
The next morning after breakfast Erika stood again at her window, looking out upon the magnificence of the palaces bordering the Grand Canal, and upon the dark, sluggish water. She seemed to be looking for the spot where the gondola the previous night had passed through the silvery radiance of the moonlight. The burden of the plaintive song still rang in her ears, in her nerves, in her soul:
"Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie,
Toi, qui n'as pas d'amour?"