"Is this not enough, Giovanni?" said his friend reproachfully. "Seest thou not that thy presence but distracts her?"
"Thou art right, Nicolo; let us go. I am myself choking—undo me this collar!—There! Let us depart."
The organ rolled its anthem—a thousand voices joined in the hymn to the Virgin, and as the sweet but painful sounds rushed to the senses of the youth he darted through the crowd, closely followed by his friend. The music seemed to pursue him with mockery. He rushed headlong from the temple, as if seeking escape from some suffocating atmosphere in the pure breezes of heaven, and hurried forward with confused and purposeless footsteps. The moment of his disappearance was marked by the partial recovery of Francesca. She unclosed her eyes, raised her head and looked wildly around her. Her lips once more murmured his name.
"Giovanni!"
"He is gone," was the sympathizing answer from more than one lip in the assembly; and once more she relapsed into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER II.
Giovanni Gradenigo was scarcely more conscious than the maiden when he left. He needed all the guidance of his friend.
"Whither?" asked Nicolo Malapiero.
"What matter! where thou wilt," was the reply.
"For the city then;" and his friend conducted him to the gondola which was appointed to await them. In the profoundest silence they glided toward the city. The gondola stopped before the dwelling of Nicolo, and he, taking the arm of the sullen and absent Giovanni within his own, ascended the marble steps, and was about to enter, when a shrill voice challenged their attention by naming Giovanni.