He was ruminating over the situation, wishing for some inspiration, wishing for Ilaria, and noting idly how the soft siesta lights played upon the sea, when Francesco perceived a little pleasure barque skirting the coast, and heading apparently for his favorite spot,--where he had met Ilaria on coming to Naples. As the breeze impelled it nearer, music floated over the waters. A few moments, and he descried within the boat three of the most charming of the younger women of the court, with their attendant cavaliers. He eyed the little boat longingly, as it approached like some swift sprite of the sea. It was at hand now, moored to the tiny wharf, and one of the women called out gaily: "Messer Eremito, we have found your cell!" "And like many hermits," laughed Stefano Maconi, "he appears to welcome the intrusion." "To be welcomed by Messer Francesco," suggested another, "we should be on the barque which Charon is rowing across the Styx." Francesco found his tongue at last. "Beauty should always have precedence over departed souls," he said with a smile. "Is it your pleasure to land and to enliven this solitude?" "No, but to lure you out upon the waters," said the woman who had spoken. Francesco, carried away by the spirit of the moment, ran down the marble steps of the terrace and leaped lightly into the boat. "Violetta made a wager that you would not come,--Petronella that you would," said a third. "As for myself--I was neutral. But my fears were with Violetta." As the sun sank lower, the wind dropped, and the men bent singing to their oars. "We were playing a game, Messeré," said the Countess Violetta. "We are trying to decide who is the fairest lady of this court, exclusive, of course,--of us three. If we can agree, we shall plan a surprise for that most lovely one!" "My vote," said Messer Romano Vivaldi, "is for Madonna Ghisola. The dusk of her hair is as soft as that of the thickest smoke of Vesuvius, and, as in the smoke, there are red reflections in it!" "Beware of the volcano," laughed Petronella. "A merry beauty for me," she improvised, speaking half verse, half prose like the others. "Rose-white as asphodel blossom, and fragrant as the cyclamen of the hills. What say you to the Contessa Leonora? Who can hear her laugh without remembering what some one has said: 'Laughter is the radiance of the soul?'" "To my mind," said one of the cavaliers, who had not yet spoken, "the Countess Ilaria Frangipani is the fairest woman of the court." The eyes of Stefano Maconi flashed emphatic assent. "She is too sad," objected Violetta, who was the youngest of the party. "So was the sea beneath the clouds of dawn," said the cavalier. "It sighed of sorrows without end. The clouds melted, and the gray waters brightened to turquoise, but whether under clouds or sun, the sea is a mystery." "She has the grace of the swaying wave," assented Petronella. "And its light in her eyes," added Camilla.