May 10th. It is lovely this morning (though when the weather changed I don't know, as it seemed to me I heard a steady downpour every time I woke in the night), however, at 9 o'clock it was an ideal summer day, warm, a bright blue sky, no grey clouds or mist, one could hardly believe it was the same city. The atmosphere is so clear that the snow mountains seem almost at the bottom of the street. I went for a walk with Madame Hubert through the old parts of the city--such curious, narrow, twisting little streets. We went into the Duomo for a moment, it looked enormous--cool and dark except where a bright ray of sunshine came through the painted windows, but so subdued that it didn't seem real sunlight seen through all the marvellous coloured glass. There were a few people walking about in little groups, but they were lost in the great space. One didn't hear a sound--the silence was striking--there wasn't even the usual murmur of priest or chorister at the altar as there was no mass going on. We asked the way to the Piazza dei Mercanti on the other side of the Duomo. It is a curious old square--a very bad pavement, grass growing in places between the stones, and all sorts of queer, irregular buildings all around it--churches, palaces, porticos, gateways--a remnant of old Milan. At each end there were little low shops where many people were congregated. I don't know if they were buying--I should think not as they seemed all rather seedy, impecunious individuals judging by their shabby, not to say worn-out garments--all Italians--I think we were the only foreigners in the Piazza (yet it is one of the sights of Milan, mentioned in the guide books). We went, too, and looked at some of the things spread out for sale--many old engravings, carved wooden frames, gold and silver ornaments, and some handsome cups and flagons very elaborately worked--also some bits of old stuff, brocade, and a curious faded red velvet worked in gold, but all in very bad condition. I couldn't find a good piece large enough to make an ordinary cushion. In one corner, squatting in the sun, were two big, dark men with scarlet caps on their heads (they looked like Tunisians). They had muslins, spangled with gold and silver, crêpe de Chine, and nondescript embroidered squares of white, soft silk with wonderful bright embroidery and designs--moons, and ships and trees. We spoke to them in French, but they didn't understand, and answered us in some unintelligible jargon--half Italian, with a few English words thrown in.