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Updated: June 2, 2025
They look so snug and so homelike, and at eventide when every thing seems to slumber, and the music of the vesper bells comes stealing over the water, one almost believes that nowhere else than on the lake of Como can there be found such a paradise of tranquil repose. From my window here in Bellaggio, I have a view of the other side of the lake now, which is as beautiful as a picture.
Greene said nothing, but I could see that his eyes were as anxiously fixed on what was going on as were those of his wife. At last, however, the three Greens were in the boat, as also were all the packages. Then I followed them, my portmanteau having gone down before me, and we pushed off for Bellaggio.
Armitage went off for two days to Milan, and returned transformed in dress, looking the very beau- ideal of an handsome Englishman, and the people at Bellaggio who had known him as the wandering landscape painter "Pietro Corri" failed to recognise him now in his true self.
And by the way, Herr Rosen begged me to present his regrets. He is leaving Bellaggio in the morning." Nora turned her face once more to the window. "It is all very petty, my child," said the padre. "Life is made up of bigger things; the little ones should be ignored."
We passed through a range of wild, picturesque hills, steep, wooded, cone-shaped, with rugged crags projecting here and there, and with dwellings and ruinous castles perched away up toward the drifting clouds. We lunched at the curious old town of Como, at the foot of the lake, and then took the small steamer and had an afternoon's pleasure excursion to this place, Bellaggio.
Lord Blythe stood at the open window of his sitting-room in the Grand Hotel at Bellaggio a window opening out to a broad balcony and commanding one of the most enchanting views of the lake and mountains ever created by Divine Beneficence for the delight of man.
And, indeed, as they floated on, past the glow of Bellaggio, towards the broad gold and azure of the farther lake, the world-defying passion that breathed from these words of dead and murdered Italians played as a bracing and renewing power on Julie's still feeble being.
"Mademoiselle Fournier, the composer. She goes with Nora on the yearly concert tours." "Pretty?" "Charming." "I see," thoughtfully. "What part of the lake; the Villa d'Este, Cadenabbia?" "Bellaggio. Oh, it was ripping last summer. She's always singing when she's happy. When she sings out on the terrace, suddenly, without giving any one warning, her voice is wonderful.
In the course of conversation it was mentioned by him that they intended to stay a few days at Bellaggio, which, as all the world knows, is a central spot on the lake of Como, and a favourite resting- place for travellers. There are three lakes which all meet here, and to all of which we give the name of Como.
We passed through a range of wild, picturesque hills, steep, wooded, cone-shaped, with rugged crags projecting here and there, and with dwellings and ruinous castles perched away up toward the drifting clouds. We lunched at the curious old town of Como, at the foot of the lake, and then took the small steamer and had an afternoon's pleasure excursion to this place, Bellaggio.
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