of all the loveliest of all, "La Luna Nova." It was to the
cadence of it that our gondoliers moved us out of the throng,
and it still drifted on the water as we swung, far down, into
sight of the lights of the Ledo:

"Luna d'ar-gen-to fal-lo so-gnar--

Ba-cia-lo in fron-te non lo de-star. . . ."

Not so sweetly came those measures as the low voice of the
beautiful lady speaking them.

"One could never forget it, never!" she said. "I might hear it a
thousand other times and forget them, but never this first
time."

I perceived that Poor Jr. turned his face abruptly toward hers
at this, but he said nothing, by which I understood not only his
wisdom but his forbearance.

"Strangely enough," she went on, slowly, "that song reminded me
of something in Paris. Do you remember"--she turned to Poor
Jr.--"that poor man we saw in front of the Cafe' de la Paix
with the sign painted upon his head?"

Ah, the good-night, with its friendly cloak! The good, kind
night!

"I remember," he answered, with some shortness. "A little
faster, boatman!"