is the gastaldo who pays much. And the toso--all his faults blamed on
the traghetti! Ah, signore, for the gondolier it is a life--Santa
Maria!" He threw up his hands with a feint of being at a loss to convey
its hardships.

"_Come non c'è altro_!" said the Veronese, laughing; "there is none like
it."

"Ebbene--va bene!" the gondolier confessed, joining heartily in the
merriment, his grievance, which was nevertheless a real one, infinitely
lessened by confession.

Suddenly the old man rose and bowed his head, and both gondoliers
crossed themselves. The Veronese also bared his head and made the sign
of reverence, for they were passing the island of San Michele, toward
which a mournful procession of boats, each with its torch and its banner
of black, was slowly gliding, while back over the water echoed the dirge
from those sobbing cellos. Here, where only the dead were sleeping, the
sky was as blue and the sea as calm as if sorrow had never been born in
the world.

Before them Murano, low-lying, scattered, was close at hand, the smoke
of its daily activities tremulous over it, dimming the beauty of sky and
sea.

"His Excellency knows Murano? The Duomo, with its mosaics? Wonderful!
there are none like them; and it is old--'ma antica'! And the
stabilimenti?--it is glory enough for one island! Ah, the padrone wishes
to visit the stabilimento Magagnati?"