quarters made my way into the garden. The temperature was very high;
it was such a night as one would gladly have spent in the open air,
and I was in no hurry to go to bed. I had floated home in my gondola,
listening to the slow splash of the oar in the narrow dark canals,
and now the only thought that solicited me was the vague reflection
that it would be pleasant to recline at one's length in the fragrant
darkness on a garden bench. The odor of the canal was doubtless
at the bottom of that aspiration and the breath of the garden,
as I entered it, gave consistency to my purpose. It was delicious--
just such an air as must have trembled with Romeo's vows when he stood
among the flowers and raised his arms to his mistress's balcony.
I looked at the windows of the palace to see if by chance
the example of Verona (Verona being not far off) had been followed;
but everything was dim, as usual, and everything was still.
Juliana, on summer nights in her youth, might have murmured down
from open windows at Jeffrey Aspern, but Miss Tita was not a poet's
mistress any more than I was a poet. This however did not prevent
my gratification from being great as I became aware on reaching
the end of the garden that Miss Tita was seated in my little bower.
At first I only made out an indistinct figure, not in the least
counting on such an overture from one of my hostesses;
it even occurred to me that some sentimental maidservant had stolen
in to keep a tryst with her sweetheart. I was going to turn away,
not to frighten her, when the figure rose to its height and I
recognized Miss Bordereau's niece. I must do myself the justice to say
that I did not wish to frighten her either, and much as I had longed
for some such accident I should have been capable of retreating.
It was as if I had laid a trap for her by coming home earlier than
usual and adding to that eccentricity by creeping into the garden.
As she rose she spoke to me, and then I reflected that perhaps,