It was at the end of a week, I think, or thereabouts, that he honoured
me with his full confidence. We had been sea-fishing in a small open
boat which he had purchased, and which he managed without assistance;
that is to say, that we had provided ourselves with what was requisite
for the pursuit of that engrossing sport, and that the young count had
gone through the form of dropping his line over the side and pulling it
up, baitless and fishless, from time to time, while I had dispensed with
even this shallow pretence of employment, and had stretched myself out
full length upon the cushions which I had thoughtfully brought with me,
inhaling the salt-laden breeze, and luxuriating in perfect inaction,
till such time as it had become necessary for us to think of returning
homeward. My companion had been sighing portentously every now and again
all through the afternoon, and had repeatedly given vent to a sound
as though he had been about to say something, and had as often checked
himself, and fallen back into silence. So that I was in a great measure
prepared for the disclosure that fell from him at length as we slipped
before the wind across the broad lagoon, toward the haze and blaze of
sunset which was glorifying the old city of the doges.

"Do you know," said he, suddenly, "that I am desperately in love?" I
said I had conjectured as much; and he seemed a good deal surprised at
my powers of divination. "Yes," he resumed, "I am in love; and with
an Italian lady too, unfortunately. Her name is Bianca,--the Signorina
Bianca Marinelli,--and she is the most divinely beautiful creature the
sun ever shone upon."

"That," said I, "is of course."

"It is the truth; and when you have seen her, you will acknowledge that