I waited, when the German courier ceased, to hear something said of this strange story. The silence was unbroken. I looked round, and the five couriers were gone: so noiselessly that the ghostly mountain might have absorbed them into its eternal snows. By this time, I was by no means in a mood to sit alone in that awful scene, with the chill air coming solemnly upon me--or, if I may tell the truth, to sit alone anywhere. So I went back into the convent-parlor, and, finding the American gentleman still disposed to relate the biography of the Honorable Ananias Dodger, heard it all out. MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.[5] [5] Continued from the December Number. CHAPTER VII. Randal advanced--"I fear, Signior Riccabocca, that I am guilty of some want of ceremony." "To dispense with ceremony is the most delicate mode of conferring a compliment," replied the urbane Italian, as he recovered from his first surprise at Randal's sudden address, and extended his hand. Violante bowed her graceful head to the young man's respectful salutation. "I am on my way to Hazeldean," resumed Randal, "and, seeing you in the garden, could not resist this intrusion." RICCABOCCA.--"You come from London? Stirring times for you English, but I do not ask you the news. No news can affect us." RANDAL (softly). "Perhaps--yes." RICCABOCCA (startled).--"How?" VIOLANTE.--"Surely he speaks of Italy, and news from that country affects you still, my father." RICCABOCCA.--"Nay, nay, nothing affects me like this country; its east wind might affect a pyramid! Draw your mantle round you, child, and go in; the air has suddenly grown chill." Violante smiled on her father, glanced uneasily toward Randal's grave brow, and went slowly toward the house. Riccabocca, after waiting some moments in silence, as if expecting Randal to speak, said with affected carelessness. "So you think that you have news that might affect me? _Corpo di Bacco!_ I am curious to learn what!" "I may be mistaken--that depends on your answer to one question. Do you know the Count of Peschiera?" Riccabocca winced, and turned pale. He could not baffle the watchful eye of the questioner. "Enough," said Randal; "I see that I am right. Believe in my sincerity. I speak but to warn and to serve you. The Count seeks to discover the retreat of a countryman and kinsman of his own." "And for what end?" cried Riccabocca, thrown off his guard, and his breast dilated, his crest rose, and his eye flashed; valor and defiance broke from habitual caution and self-control. "But pooh," he added, striving to regain his ordinary and half-ironical calm, "it matters not to me. I grant, sir, that I know the Count di Peschiera; but what has Dr. Riccabocca to do with the kinsman of so grand a personage?"