"And I," said Lord Evelyn. "Now, must we be off to dress?"
"Not at all," said Natalie. "Do you not understand that you are abroad, and walking into a restaurant to dine? And now I will play you a little invitation—not to dinner; for you must suppose you have dined—and you come out on the stairs of the hotel, and step into the black gondola."
She went along to the small table, and sat down to the zither. There were a few notes of prelude; and then they heard the beautiful low voice added to the soft tinkling sounds. What did they vaguely make out from that melodious murmur of Italian?
Behold the beautiful night—the wind sleeps drowsily—the silent shores slumber in the dark:
"Sul placido elemento
Vien meco a navigar!"
The soft wind moves—as it stirs among the leaves—it moves and dies—among the murmur of the water:
"Lascia l'amico tetto
Vien meco a navigar!"
Now on the spacious mantle—of the already darkening heavens—see, oh, the shining wonder—how the white stars tremble:
"Ai raggi della luna
Vien meco a navigar!"