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The sky announced a beautiful day; the setting moon shone pale in

an immense field of azure, which, towards the east, mingled

itself lightly with the rosy dawn. Near the horizon were

scattered clouds of various hues and forms; it was, in fact, the

sky of Lombardy, beautiful, brilliant, and calm. If Renzo had had

a mind at ease, he would no doubt have stopped to contemplate

this splendid ushering in of day, so different from that which he

had been accustomed to witness amidst his mountains; but his

thoughts were otherwise occupied. He reached the brow of the

precipice where he had stood the preceding night, and looking

below, perceived, through the bushes, a fisherman's bark, which

was slowly stemming the current, near the shore. He descended the

precipice, and standing on the bank, made a sign to the fisherman

to approach. He intended to do this with a careless air, as if it

were of little importance, but in spite of himself, his manner

was half supplicatory.