But the rest was lost in the meeting of their lips.

* * * * *

They dined on the open loggia, its curtains drawn, hiding them from the
view of the palaces opposite, but not preventing the soft sounds of the
singers in the gondolas moored to the poles beneath from reaching their
ears. And above the music now and then would come the faint splash of
water, and the "Stahi"--"Preme" of some moving gondolier.

The food was of the richest, beginning with strange fishes and quantities
of _hors d'oeuvres_ that Paul knew not, accompanied by _vodka_ in several
forms. And some of the _plats_ she would just taste, and some send
instantly away.

And all the while a little fountain of her own perfume played from a group
of sportive cupids in silver, while the table in the centre was piled with
red roses. Dmitry and two Italian footmen waited, and everything was done
with the greatest state. A regal magnificence was in the lady's air and
mien. She spoke of the splendours of Venice's past, and let Paul feel the
atmosphere of that subtle time of passion and life. Of here a love-scene,
and there a murder. Of wisdom and vice, and intoxicating emotion, all
blended in a kaleidoscope of gorgeousness and colour.

And once again her vast knowledge came as a fresh wonder to Paul--no
smallest detail of history seemed wanting in her talk, so that he lived
again in that old world and felt himself a Doge.

When they were alone at last, tasting the golden wine, she rose and drew
him to the loggia balustrade. Dmitry had drawn back the curtains and