Then, still more passionately, the desire overcame him to paint that
face for his Madonna; he would never give it up! Yet this maiden was
not one of whom he could ask the favor that he craved, nor to whom he
could offer any return.

He had come to San Maurizio to take a gondola from the traghetto, partly
that he might be free to wander without comment wherever his search
should lead, partly because he was always ready for a chat with the
people; their experiences interested him, and he himself belonged by his
artist life, as by his sympathies, to all classes. Perhaps, too, he had
been moved with a vague hope that he might find the face he was seeking,
for he was used to fortunate happenings. But there were no waiting
Madonnas under the pergola, and the air of the early spring morning blew
chill from the Lido, almost with an intimation of failure to his
sensitive mood. He pushed aside an old _gransiere_, without the gift of
small coin that usually flowed so easily from his hand, for service
rendered or unrendered, as he impatiently questioned the gondoliers.

"One who knows Murano well!" he called.

There was an instant response from an old man almost past traghetto
service, but his age and probable garrulity commended him.

"I will take thee and thy gondola, since thou knowest Murano," said the
artist kindly; "but I must go swiftly, and I would not tax thee. Thou
shalt have thy fare, but I will pay for another gondolier also from the
traghetto; he must be young and lusty. Choose thou him--and hasten."

There was a babel of voices and a self-gratulatory proffer of lithe