“Another and perhaps the principal attraction of Drignan is the ruin, pathetic in its dignity, of the mansion of the Conte dei Canale, the exiled Venetian, where the immortal poet Petrarch and the no less immortal lady of his love, whom he has celebrated in undying verse, met secretly, in the year 1337, to bid each other a long and chaste farewell. News of the lovers’ design having reached the ears of de Sade, the husband of the beauteous Laura, his base mind suspected an elopement, and he dispatched his liveried minions to separate the pair, and, if possible, to immolate on the altar of his vengeance the gentle and talented poet. It is supposed to be in consequence of injuries received in the resultant [Illustration] struggle that Petrarch went into retirement for three years at Vaucluse (a spot which no holder of Messrs. Sculry & Co.’s 7-9 extra-trip coupon should fail to see). This exquisite chapter in the lives of the lovers over whom so many tears of sentiment have been shed, has been strangely neglected by the historians; but survives undimmed in local tradition. A full account will be found on page 329. The house is now 47 _bis_ rue des Quatres Mulets. Behind it may still be seen what remains of the magnificent orangery and olive-garden of the Conte dei Canale. Access to this is gained from the second gateway from the corner of the Passage des Porcs, and should not be confounded with the entrance to the Jardin de Perse, a resort of somewhat frivolous character, situated on the second crossing below, rue Clément V.”-- Here the Manager raised his head. “I suppose that’s for the men?” “Yes,” said Mr. Egg; “that’s for the men.” “Well,” said the Manager, “what about this other attraction, this Petrarch and Laura place?” “Well,” said Mr. Egg, blinking at him, for it was still early in the morning; “there it is, as large as life, with a sign on the door that looks as if it had been there fifty years; and I’ll give it to you as my opinion that if you don’t work that attraction, the Novelty Excursion Company will jump in and work it for you.” “Ay, ay!” said the Manager, irritably; “that’s all very well; but how about the fees? That excursion goes by way of Drignan to save money. The London office won’t thank me if I give them any extra fees to pay.” “Oh!” said Mr. Egg, pleasantly; “is that all? Here, give me that proof.” And, taking the sheets from the manager, he wrote as follows, on the margin: