“Wait; now we are rounding,” said he; “now you have three of what you call your theatre-bridges in sight. The people mount and drop, mount and drop; I see them laugh. They are full of fun and good-temper. Look on living Venice.” “Provided that my papa is not crossing when we go under.” “Would he not trust you to me?” “Yes.” “He would? And you?” “I do believe they are improvizing an operetta on the second bridge.” “You trust yourself willingly?” “As to my second brother. You hear them? How delightfully quick and spontaneous they are! Ah, silly creatures! they have stopped. They might have held it on for us while we were passing.” “Where would the naturalness have been then?” “Perhaps, M. Nevil, I do want commanding. I am wilful. Half my days will be spent in fits of remorse, I begin to think.” “Come to me to be forgiven.” “Shall I? I should be forgiven too readily.” “I am not so sure of that.” “Can you be harsh? No, not even with enemies. Least of all with... with us.” Oh for the black gondola!—the little gliding dusky chamber for two; instead of this open, flaunting, gold and crimson cotton-work, which exacted discretion on his part and that of the mannerly gondoliers, and exposed him to window, balcony, bridge, and borderway. They slipped on beneath a red balcony where a girl leaned on her folded arms, and eyed them coming and going by with Egyptian gravity. “How strange a power of looking these people have,” said Renée, whose vivacity was fascinated to a steady sparkle by the girl. “Tell me, is she glancing round at us?” Nevil turned and reported that she was not. She had exhausted them while they were in transit; she had no minor curiosity. “Let us fancy she is looking for her lover,” he said. Renée added: “Let us hope she will not escape being seen.” “I give her my benediction,” said Nevil. “And I,” said Renée; “and adieu to her, if you please. Look for Roland.” “You remind me; I have but a few instants.” “M. Nevil, you are a preux of the times of my brother’s patronymic. And there is my Roland awaiting us. Is he not handsome?” “How glad you are to have him to relieve guard!” Renée bent on Nevil one of her singular looks of raillery. She had hitherto been fencing at a serious disadvantage. “Not so very glad,” she said, “if that deprived me of the presence of his friend.” Roland was her tower. But Roland was not yet on board. She had peeped from her citadel too rashly. Nevil had time to spring the flood of crimson in her cheeks, bright as the awning she reclined under. “Would you have me with you always?” “Assuredly,” said she, feeling the hawk in him, and trying to baffle him by fluttering. “Always? forever? and—listen—give me a title?” Renée sang out to Roland like a bird in distress, and had some trouble not to appear too providentially rescued. Roland on board, she resumed the attack.