I continued on my way slowly, for I was sorry to lose the last opportunity of penetrating the mysteries of No. 13. I turned my head at each step that I took, expecting every time to see some human being climb up or descend the cord. Nothing appeared, and at length I got to the far end of the lane, which led into the Corso. "Farewell, Madam Lucrezia," I said, and I took off my hat to the house which I could still see. "Find out someone else, I beg you, to help you to avenge yourself on the jealous lover who keeps you imprisoned there." It was striking two o'clock when I entered my hotel. A carriage loaded with luggage stood waiting in the yard. One of the hotel waiters gave me a letter; it was from Don Ottavio, and, as it looked a long one, I thought I had better take it up to my room to read, so I asked the waiter to light me upstairs. "Monsieur," he said, "your servant, whom you told us was going to travel with you...." "Well? Has he come?" "No, Monsieur...." "He is at the inn, and will come with the horses." "Monsieur, a lady came a little while ago and asked to speak to your servant. She absolutely insisted on going up to your room, Monsieur, and told me to tell your servant as soon as he came that Madam Lucrezia was in your room." "In my room!" I cried, clutching hold of the bannister rail. "Yes, Monsieur; and it looks as though she were going too, for she gave me a small box to put in the boot." My heart beat loudly, and superstitious terror and curiosity possessed me in turn. I went up the stairs step by step. When I reached the first landing (my rooms were on the second floor), the waiter, who was in front of me, tripped, and the candle which he held in his hand was extinguished. He begged pardon profoundly, and went downstairs to relight it. I still climbed on. I had my hand on the key of my room, but I hesitated. What fresh vision should I see? More than once, in the darkness, the story of the bleeding nun had returned to me. Was I possessed by a demon, even as was Don Alonso? The waiter seemed a terribly long time in coming. I opened the door. Heaven have mercy on us! there was a light in my bedroom. I rapidly crossed the little sitting-room which came first, and a single glance sufficed to show me no one was in my bedroom; but immediately I heard light steps behind me, and the rustle of skirts. I believe my hair stood on end as I turned round suddenly. A woman, dressed in white, her head covered with a black mantilla, rushed to me with outstretched arms. "Here you are at last, my beloved!" she cried, as she seized my hands. Hers were as cold as ice, and her features were as pale as death. I started back against the wall. "Holy Mother! It is not he!... Oh, Monsieur, are you Don Ottavio's friend?"