The sun had set, but there was a radiant sunset sky, as well as a view of great extent to be seen from the Campanile as two ladies stood there, and, leaning over the parapet of the great tower, looked down on Venice, with the Grand Canal winding through its midst like a silver serpent; at the coast of Istria and the blue summits of the Alps afar; and at the Adriatic spreading to meet the sky. One fastened her dark eyes on that distant line of blending sea and sky, but the other bestowed her regard chiefly on the Piazza at her feet, where people seemed to be crawling about like ants. Presently one of these ants crossed the square more quickly than the rest and entered the loggia at the foot of the Campanile. Mrs. Meredith looked round at her companion. “I think I see Mr. Kyrle coming up,” she remarked. Aimée turned with a slight start from the contemplation of the Adriatic. “How do you know that it is Mr. Kyrle?” she asked. “It may be any one.” “I know because I told him that we were to be here,” returned the other, carelessly. “I thought the poor fellow needed a little relief from the society of Lydia. He really begins to look worn and pale under the ordeal.” “I can not see why you should draw such a conclusion,” said Aimée. “If he did not like Lydia’s society, he need not endure it. A man can do what he likes in such matters.” “Simpleton! is that all you know about it?” said Fanny. “Why, unless he absolutely runs away, a man is helpless in the hands of a woman who knows how to play such a game as Lydia is playing. And this man does not want to run away, because he adores _you_.” “Fanny!” “It is quite true. He adores you, and yet he is so afraid of your fortune that he dare not approach you. He does not believe that a poor man has any right to try to marry a rich woman.” A flush that seemed borrowed from the sunset was now on Aimée’s face. She cast a glance of reproach at her cousin. “If it is true,” she said, hurriedly, “why have you chosen such a time to speak of it?” “Because I thought it only a matter of justice to let you know that he does not endure Lydia’s attentions because he likes them,” replied Fanny, coolly. They were silent then, for steps were now heard inside the tower, ascending that inclined plane up which tradition tells that Napoleon rode his horse; and a little later Kyrle stepped on the platform. The moment he appeared, Fanny Meredith saw that there was a change in him--a glow in his sunburned cheek, a light in his eye, and the air of a man who had burst some bond. She looked at him with surprise, and as he walked up to her--not seeing Aimée, who had retreated to the other side of the tower--she said, involuntarily: “What is the matter? You look--unlike yourself.” “Do I?” he said, with a thrill of excitement in his voice. “Well, that is not strange. I am _not_ myself--that is, I am not the man you parted with this morning, but quite another. Allow me to introduce myself to you as a millionaire.”