Meanwhile the fiacre had left the Via Pallone, crossed over the Ponte Aleardi, and was now being driven rapidly along the left bank of the Adige, past the Campo Marzo. We speedily arrived at the old burial-ground, and Peppino, stopping his horse near the gate, assisted me to alight from the carriage. "Peppino," I said, when this was done, "tie your horse up somewhere and come with me into the cemetery." "Diamine!" replied Peppino, crossing himself with superstitious reverence. "I like not these fields of the dead." "It's broad daylight, you coward; besides, I wish you to tell me about the tombs." "But why does not the Signor go to the beautiful new cemetery?" said Peppino, leading his horse to the wall and fastening him to a heavy stone; "the statues there are beautiful. This is old, very old; no one is buried here now." "When was the last person buried, Peppino?" "Dio! I don't know--eh, oh, yes, Signore, last year an illustrious was buried in his own vault; but he was mad. Ecco!" "Why did he have a vault built in such an old cemetery?" "Oh, the vault was old--as old as the Trezza. All the signori of his family had been buried there for many days." "Since the Republic?" "Dio! yes, and before." "What is the name of this family?" "I don't know, Signore, I forget!" "Well, come along, Peppino. As you know so much about one tomb, you will probably know something about another." "Command me, Illustrious." I did not enter the burial-ground by the gate, as I wanted to go the same way as on the previous night, in order to be certain of finding the tomb I was in search of, so, with some little difficulty, and the help of Peppino, I managed to climb over the broken wall, and soon found myself in my old hiding-place. Peppino looked at me with considerable curiosity, as he could not conceive my object in coming to this dreary locality; but ultimately, shrugging his shoulders, he put it down to a freak on the part of a mad Englishman, and waited for me to speak. The tomb looked scarcely less forbidding and gloomy in the daytime than it did at night, with its massive-looking architecture, and the stern-faced angel guarding the iron door. Advancing through the long grass which grew all round it, I looked every where for a name, but could find none, then tried to open the iron door, to the great dismay of Peppino. "Signore," he said in a faltering voice, "do not let out the ghosts." "There are no ghosts here, Peppino. They have all departed," I replied, finding the door locked. "Dio! I'm not so sure of that, Illustrious. Many dead are in there." "Oh, they've been dead so long that their ghosts must have grown weary of this gloomy sepulchre." "Yes, Signore, but the ghost of the mad Count buried last year!" "Oh!" I cried with lively curiosity, "is this the vault where he was buried?" "Yes, Illustrious!" "And the name, Peppino? What was his name?"