"I said I was ready to die
for you. So I am. You may fix the time, but I may choose the place. If
you insist upon it, I'll make an end of it now--here." And he settled
himself deeper into the pile of cushions.
We had no patience to listen to any more, but went off to perform our
duty. Long before he had exhausted his arguments against moving, we had
returned. Margaret Devereux missed seeing the church and its Titian, but
she got a "great moral lesson." She never wasted her pretty pleadings in
such a hopeless cause again.
I remember, when we mounted the Campanile, the solemn way in which he
wished us _buon viaggio_. When we reached the top, we made out his
figure reclining on many chairs in front of "Florian's."
He saw us, too, and lifted the glass before him to his lips with a wave
of approval and encouragement, just as they do at Chamounix when the
telescopes make out a few black specks on the white crests of the
mountain. When we came down, he stopped us before we could say one
word. "Yes, I know--it was magnificent. Bella, I see you are going to
rave about the view. If you do, I'll shut you up for a week _en
penitence_, and feed you on nothing but 'Bradshaw' and water."
We spent a very pleasant month in Venice.
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