He was very busy, but found
plenty of time to be with us. His paintings were full of the same kind of
power I felt in his character. He never wearied of the gorgeous
atmospheric effects of which Titian and Paul, Giorgione and Tintoretto
were the old worshippers. They touched him sometimes with a voluptuous
melancholy in which he found a deeper inspiration.
"Every day I loved him more and more, and nobody suspected it. He did not,
because he was only glad to be in my society when he wanted criticism. He
liked me as an intelligent woman. He loved Fiora as a bewitching child.
"My mother watched us all, and soon saw there was nothing to fear. I
sought to be lively--to frequent society; for I knew if my health failed I
should be sent away from Venice and Luigi. He had given me a drawing--a
scene composed from our first meeting upon the Lagune. The very soul of
evening repose brooded upon the picture. It had even an indefinable tone
of sadness, as if he had incorporated into it the sound of the vesper
bell. It had been simply a melancholy sound to him. To the rest of us, who
loved Camillo, it was something more than that. In his heart the mere
remembrance of the island rang melancholy vespers forever.
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