The change of air gave fresh energy to the whole party except Ragna, who continued pale and languid. Fru Bjork worried over it, and longed for the coming of Dr. Ferrati whose advice she intended to ask, whether Ragna wished it or no. As the Doctor had recommended sea-bathing for Astrid, the three ladies made daily trips to the Lido, and the girls thoroughly enjoyed their dips in the warm Adriatic. Ragna had always been a strong swimmer, but here, to her surprise, found that she tired almost at once, but set it down to the heat. After the long delicious bath was over the girls wrapped themselves in bath-robes, and lay on the sands to bake, their heads shielded from the sun by broad-brimmed straw hats. The strong soft heat and the salt air made them sleepy, the sands seemed to vibrate in the sunshine, a delightful weariness weighted their limbs, a drowsy consciousness of complete physical well-being filled them. It was to Ragna the happiest moment of the day.
The atmosphere alone of Venice gave her a feeling of rest and peace; the silent gliding of gondolas through the canals, the long drawn-out sonorous cries of the gondoliers, the soft wash of the water against the richly tinted walls, all lulled her senses. She realized that afternoon is the time to see Venice, the strong light of morning throws into intolerable relief the decay of the city; the St. Martin's Summer of the glorious Republic requires the mellow haze of the hours before sunset, as a fading beauty is best seen by candle light, and often in the afternoon, she would slip away to some old church, and in solitary musing to steep herself in the wonderful atmosphere of golden autumn. Most often of all, she went to S. Maria Formosa, and would sit for hours in contemplation of Palma Vecchio's Santa Barbara. She loved the strong, voluptuous, calm woman, beautiful with the beauty of the corn-harvest, standing clear-eyed and self-possessed in her rich russet draperies. All the richness and fulness of the earth seemed symbolized in this glorious creature, this Woman of women. "Ceres," the girl called her, for in her appearance, there is nothing of the saintly, nothing of the ascetic, rather the promise of abundant voluptuous joy--not pleasure, but something deeper, graver, more fundamental, the earnest of a bounteous harvest of life.