red Verona marble, was the dwelling of Girolamo Magagnati; the others of
this little block of three were used as show-rooms and offices for the
great establishment which was connected with them, in the rear, by small
courtyards; and the dense smoke of the glass factories always rested
over them, although this was the quarter of the aristocrats of Murano.

The buildings looked low and modest if measured by the palaces of the
greater city, and their massive marble door- and window-frames increased
the impression of gloom. But here and there a portal more ornate, with
treble-twisted cords deeply carved, or a window of fourteenth century
workmanship relieved the severity of the lines; while in this short
arcade, where the houses rose but a storey in height above the square
pillars which supported the overhanging fronts, these unexpected columns
of rosy marble, delicate and unique, on which the windows seemed to
rest, gave singular distinction to these dwellings.

Often the people passing in gondola or bark glanced carelessly into the
depth of the open window space framed between those polished marble
shafts, for the familiar vision of a wonderful young face, beautiful as
a Madonna from some high altar in Venice; often, too, this vision of a
maiden bent above a child, with rare golden hair and great eyes full of
pain.

There was a little lingering on the landing as they left the gondola;
for the baby, waking from his long, refreshing sleep, had claimed his
share of petting before the great dark man who tossed him so restfully
in his strong arms went away. There was no one who could make the little
Zuane laugh like "babbo," though the tremulous, treble echo of the full
tones of the gondolier had a pathos for those who listened.