Her pride
returned; she felt the impossibility of making an overture to Herbert;
she looked upon their daughter as the last victim of his fatal career.
CHAPTER IX.
How beautiful is night in Venice! Then music and the moon reign
supreme; the glittering sky reflected in the waters, and every gondola
gliding with sweet sounds! Around on every side are palaces and
temples, rising from the waves which they shadow with their solemn
forms, their costly fronts rich with the spoils of kingdoms, and
softened with the magic of the midnight beam. The whole city too is
poured forth for festival. The people lounge on the quays and cluster
on the bridges; the light barks skim along in crowds, just touching
the surface of the water, while their bright prows of polished iron
gleam in the moonshine, and glitter in the rippling wave. Not a sound
that is not graceful: the tinkle of guitars, the sighs of serenaders,
and the responsive chorus of gondoliers. Now and then a laugh,
light, joyous, and yet musical, bursts forth from some illuminated
coffee-house, before which a buffo disports, a tumbler stands on his
head, or a juggler mystifies; and all for a sequin!
The Place of St. Marc, at the period of our story, still presented the
most brilliant spectacle of the kind in Europe.
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