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At last she thought
that sleep might come if she went to bed. But before doing so she made
her way to the bridge and leaned on the rail, looking down into the
Pool.
It was very dark, but she saw the shadowy shape of a fishing-boat
lying close to the rock. She stood and watched it, and presently she
lost herself in a thicket of night thoughts, and forgot where she was
and why she had come there. She was recalled by hearing a very faint
voice singing, scarcely more than humming, beneath her.
"Oh, dolce luna bianca de l' Estate
Mi fugge il sonno accanto a la marina:
Mi destan le dolcissime serate
Gli occhi di Rosa e il mar di Mergellina."
It was the same song that Artois had heard that day as he leaned on
the balcony of the Ristorante della Stella. But this singer of it sang
the Italian words, and not the dialetto. The song that wins the prize
at the Piedigrotta Festival is on the lips of every one in Naples. In
houses, in streets, in the harbor, in every piazza, and upon the sea
it is heard incessantly.


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