through the murky labyrinth of the canals under graceful marble balconies flanked by carved lions, around corners of slimy masonry, past funereal palazzo fa�ades, their large commercial signs mirrored in the bobbing water strewn with refuse, and on to San Marco. He had some difficulty getting there, because the gondolier, in league as he was with the lace factories and glass works, kept trying to stop so he might view and purchase their wares, and whenever the bizarre journey through Venice began to cast its spell upon him the cutpurse mercantilism of the sunken queen did its part to bring him painfully back to his senses. Upon his return to the hotel, even before dining, he informed the office that unforeseen circumstances had compelled him to leave early the following morning. Regrets were tendered, the bill settled. He dined and spent the warm evening reading newspapers in a rocking chair on the back terrace. Before retiring, he packed all his belongings for departure. He did not sleep particularly well, the imminent displacement having unnerved him. When he opened the windows ii the morning, the sky was as overcast as it had been, but the air seemed fresher, and-regret set in. Had giving notice not been impetuous and wrongheaded, the result of an inconsequential indisposition? If he had held off a bit, if he had not been so quick to lose heart, if he had instead tried to adjust to the air or wait for the weather to improve, he would now have been free of stress and strain and looking forward to a morning on the beach like the one the day before. Too late. He must go on wanting what he had wanted yesterday He dressed and rode down to the ground floor at eight for breakfast. The breakfast room was still empty when he went in. Several guests arrived while he sat waiting for his order. His teacup at his lips, he watched the Polish girls enter with their companion. Stiff and fresh from sleep, their eyes still red, they proceeded to their table in the corner near the window. Shortly thereafter the porter went up to him, cap in hand, to admonish him to depart: the motorcar was ready to drive the gentleman and several other passengers to the Hotel Excelsior, where the motor launch would be waiting to convey them to the station via the company's private canal. Time was pressing. Aschenbach felt time was doing nothing of the sort: his train was not due to leave for more than an hour. He resented the way hotels prevailed upon their guests to vacate the premises prematurely and indicated to the porter that he wished to breakfast in peace. The man withdrew hesitantly only to reappear five minutes later. The motorcar could not possibly wait any longer, he said. Then let it go and take his trunk with it, Aschenbach retorted angrily; he would use the public vaporetto when the time came, and would he kindly leave the arrangements for his departure to him? The employee bowed. Glad to have fended off the man's tedious admonitions, Aschenbach finished his breakfast in a leisurely fashion; he even had the waiter bring him a newspaper. Time was indeed short by the time he stood at last. And it so happened that at that very instant Tadzio entered through the glass door. As he crossed the departing Aschenbach's path on his way to the family table, he modestly lowered his eyes before the man with the gray hair and lofty brow only to raise them again, soft and wide, in that charming way of his, and walk past. "Adieu, Tadzio!" Aschenbach thought. "It was all too brief" And, contrary to his custom, actually forming the words with his lips and uttering them to himself, he added, "God bless you." He then went through the departure formalitiesdistributing gratuities and listening to the short, softspoken manager in the French frock coat make his farewell----left the hotel on foot as he had come, followed by the hotel porter with his hand luggage, and set out for the vaporetto landing along the white-blossoming avenue that cut across the island. Having
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