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He lifted one of them gently, his eyes on her face. She did not stir or look up. He raised it slowly to his lips.

The warm breath stirred a smile on her face. She glanced at him from under falling lids.

He dropped the hand and stood up with a half cry.

“I must go–Violante–I must–go!” He groped to where the doorway opened, cool and dark, behind them, “I must go,” he repeated vaguely.

She rose and came to him slowly. “You must go,” she said softly.

They passed into the dark, open doorway.

Below, in the hot sun, the gondola rocked at the foot of the stairs.

IV

The noon-bell in the southern turret of the Fondaco chimed softly. A painter at work on the facade near by looked up inquiringly at the sun. He smiled absently to himself and, dropping his brushes, descended lightly from the scaffolding to the ground. He walked away a few steps–as far as the ground permitted–and turned to look at the work above.

“Not so bad,” he murmured softly, “–not so bad … and better from the water.” He glanced at the canal below. A white hand from a passing gondola waved to him and motioned approvingly toward the colors of the great wall.

“Bravo, Tiziano!” called some one from another craft. The canal took up the cry. “Bravo, bravo! Bravo,–Tiziano!”

Titian raised his painter’s cap and returned the salute. He stood with one foot on the parapet, looking down and smiling with easy grace, at the pleasure-loving crowd below. A man came in sight around the corner of the Fondaco, walking slowly and looking up at the picture as he came.

“Well?” Titian glanced at him keenly.

“Great!” responded Giorgione heartily. “The Judith bears the light well, and when the scaffolding is down it will be better yet…. Venice will be proud!” He laid his hand affectionately on the other’s shoulder and motioned toward the throng of boats that had halted below, gazing at the glowing wall.

“To-day Titian–to-morrow another!” said Titian a little bitterly.

“Why care?” responded Giorgione. “Some one to-day told me that my Judith, on the south wall here, surpasses all my other work together.” He laughed cordially.

Titian looked at him keenly. His face had flushed a little under the compliment. “It is like you not to care,” he said affectionately.

“Care! Why should I care–so that the work is done?” His eyes rested lovingly on the facade. “It is marvellous–that trick of light,” he said wonderingly…. “You must teach it to me.”

Titian laughed under his breath. “I learned it from you.”

Giorgione shook his head. “Not from me….” he replied doubtingly. “If you learned it from me, others would learn from me.” He stood, looking up, lost in thought.

“Where is Zarato?” asked Titian abruptly.

Giorgione started vaguely. A flush came into his face. “He stopped work–an hour ago,” he said.

Titian’s eyes were on his face.

The open friendliness had vanished. It was turned to him with a look of trouble. “Had you thought, Cevelli–” His speech hesitated and broke off. He was looking down at the dark water.

Titian answered the unspoken question. “Yes, I had thought,” he said. His voice was very quiet.

His companion looked up quickly. “He is with her now, it may be…. I told them that I should not go home at the noon-bell.” He looked about him slowly–at the clear sky and at the moving throng of boats below–

“I am going home.” He spoke the words with dull emphasis.

Titian turned and held out his hand. “The gods be with you, friend!”

Giorgione gripped it for a moment. Tears waited behind the eyes and clouded the look of trust. “I could bear it if–if Zarato was not my friend,” he said as he turned away.

“Keep faith while you may,” said Titian, following him a step. “He who distrusts a friend lends thunderbolts to the gods,” he quoted softly.

“Remind him that he is to sit for me this afternoon,” he called more lightly, as the other moved away.