towards the wooden bridge. She would have given anything to look out and
see him cross and come nearer, but she remembered that she was not yet
dressed, and she blushed as she drew further back into the room,
gathering the thin white linen up to her throat, and frightened at the
mere thought that he should catch sight of her. She would not call her
serving-woman yet, she would be alone a little while longer. She threw
back her russet hair, and bent down to smell the rose in the tall glass.
The sun was risen now and the first slanting beams shot sideways through
her window from the right. The day that was to be so sweet had begun
most sweetly. She had seen him already, far earlier than usual; she
would see him many times before the little brown maid crossed the canal
to bring her home in the evening.

The thought put an end to her meditations, and she was suddenly in haste
to be dressed, to be out of the house, to be sitting in the little
garden of the glass-house where Zorzi must soon pass again. She called
and clapped her hands, and her serving-woman entered from the outer room
in which she slept. She brought a great painted earthenware dish, on
which fruit was arranged, half of a small yellow melon fresh from the
cool storeroom, a little heap of dark red cherries and a handful of ripe
plums. There was white wheaten bread, too, and honey from Aquileia, in a
little glass jar, and there was a goblet of cold water. The maid set the
big dish on the table, beside the glass that held Zorzi's rose, and
began to make ready her mistress's clothes.

Marietta tasted the melon, and it was cool and aromatic, and she stood
eating a slice of it, just where she could look through the flowers on
the window-sill at the door of the glass-house, so that if Zorzi passed
again she should see him. He did not come, and she was a little
disappointed; but the melon was very good, and afterwards she ate a few