| 223 | 224 | 225 | 226 | 227 |
| 1 | 100 | 200 | 300 | 400 |
|
quiet waters had closed placidly over their victim; and, although my own
gondola was the only one in sight, many a stout swimmer, already in the
stream, was seeking in vain upon the surface, the treasure which was
to be found, alas! only within the abyss. Upon the broad black marble
flagstones at the entrance of the palace, and a few steps above the
water, stood a figure which none who then saw can have ever since
forgotten. It was the Marchesa Aphrodite--the adoration of all
Venice--the gayest of the gay--the most lovely where all were
beautiful--but still the young wife of the old and intriguing Mentoni,
and the mother of that fair child, her first and only one, who now, deep
beneath the murky water, was thinking in bitterness of heart upon her
sweet caresses, and exhausting its little life in struggles to call upon
her name.
She stood alone. Her small, bare, and silvery feet gleamed in the
black mirror of marble beneath her. Her hair, not as yet more than
half loosened for the night from its ball-room array, clustered, amid
a shower of diamonds, round and round her classical head, in curls like
those of the young hyacinth. A snowy-white and gauze-like drapery seemed
to be nearly the sole covering to her delicate form; but the mid-summer
and midnight air was hot, sullen, and still, and no motion in the
statue-like form itself, stirred even the folds of that raiment of very
vapor which hung around it as the heavy marble hangs around the Niobe.
Yet--strange to say!--her large lustrous eyes were not turned downwards
225
Page
Quick Jump
|