"Every night she left the Quirinal and came here to amuse herself. She stood at that window, and when a fine cavalier, such as yourself, Monsieur, passed by in the street, she called to him, and I leave you to guess if he was well received. But most men are chattering magpies, and they could have done her great harm by their babbling, so she took care to guard herself. When she had made her adieu to her lover, her armed attendants filled the staircase by which we came up. They despatched you, and then buried you among the cabbages! Yes, many of their bones are found in the garden! "This establishment went on for a long time, but one evening her brother, Sisto Tarquino, passed under the window. She did not recognise him, and she called to him. He came up. In the dark all cats look grey, and he was treated like all the others. But he had left his handkerchief behind, and his name was upon it. "Despair seized her as soon as she saw the mischief she had done. She immediately unwound her garter and hung herself from that beam up there. What an example for young people!" While the old woman was thus confusing the ages, mixing up the Tarquins with the Borgias, I had my eyes fixed on the flooring. I had discovered several rose petals still quite fresh, which gave me plenty to think of. "Who attends to this garden?" I asked the old woman. "My son, Monsieur, gardener to M. Vanozzi, who has the next garden. M. Vanozzi is always away in the Maremma; and he hardly ever comes to Rome. That is why the garden is not very nicely kept. My son goes with him, and I am afraid they will not come back for a very long time," she added, with a sigh. "He is busily employed, then, with M. Vanozzi." "Oh, he is a queer man--busy over too many things. I am afraid he spends his time in a bad way.... Ah, my poor boy!" She took a step towards the door as though she wanted to change the conversation. "No one lives here, then?" I resumed, stopping her. "Not a single creature." "And why is that?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Listen to me," I said, as I gave her a piastre. "Tell me the truth. A woman comes here." "A woman? Good Lord!" "Yes; I saw her yesterday evening and I spoke to her." "Holy Mother!" cried the old dame, and she rushed to the staircase; "it must be Madam Lucrezia! Let us go! let us go, Monsieur! They certainly told me she walked here by night, but I did not wish to tell it you for fear of injuring the landlord, because I thought you wished to rent it." It was out of the question to keep her there; she hurried out of the house, anxious, she said, "to light a candle in the nearest church." I went out too, and let her go, hopeless of learning anything more from her.