Far away the shipping in the bacino lay still like enchanted craft.

Only a steamer or two, and here and there the black line of a gondola with its standing, solitary rower, broke the immobility of things.

And Venice, russet and rose and grey, brooded in the sunset, a city of dreams.

They murmured words of wonder and regret.

Instinctively they drew near and their shoulders touched.