"Let some one else endure these art lovers and art enthusiasts!" said he, annoyed, as he followed the road by the sea. "Half the day long they sit at the piano, and the rest of the time talk of music. Reinhold always is in extremes. From the midst of the wildest life, out of the most senseless excitement, he rushes head over heels into this romantic solitude, and will hear and know of nothing but his music; I only wonder how long it will last. And this Marchese Tortoni? Young, handsome, rich, of a most noble line; this Cesario does not know what better to do with his life than to bury himself for months in his lonely Mirando, to play the _dilettante_ in grand style, and, with his endless worship, turn Reinhold's head still more. I know how to spend my time better than that." At these last words, spoken with great self-satisfaction, the Captain stopped, as the end of his walk was already, so far, attained. Before him lay the Villa Fiorina, shaded by high fir trees and cypresses, and buried almost in blooming shrubs. The house itself appeared magnificent and roomy, but the chief façade as well as the terrace turned towards the sea, and were so thickly overgrown and surrounded by roses and oleander bushes that even Hugo's hawk's eye was not able to penetrate the balmy fortification. A high wall, covered with creeping plants, enclosed the park-like grounds, which terminated in the olive grove which surrounded the estate. It might formerly have been, judging by the size of the grounds, the property of some great family, then, like so many others, have often changed owners, and now served as temporary residence for rich strangers. At all events, in beauty of situation, it did not yield the palm to Marchese Tortoni's highly prized Mirando. The Captain had already formed his plan of campaign; he therefore only scanned the country slightly, made a vain attempt to obtain a better view of the terrace from the seaward side, measured the height of the garden walls with his eye, in case of accident, and then went direct to the entrance, where he rang the bell, and demanded to see the owners, without hesitation. The porter, an old Italian, appeared to have received his instruction for the like cases, as, without even asking the stranger's name, he explained shortly and decidedly that his master and mistress received no visits, and he regretted that the Signor had troubled himself in vain. Hugo coolly drew out a card. "They will make an exception. It is concerning an affair of importance, which requires a personal interview. I will wait here in the meanwhile, as I am sure to be received." He sat down quietly on the stone bench, and this immovable confidence impressed the porter so much that he really began to believe in the importance of the pretended mission. He disappeared with the card, while Hugo, quite unconcerned as to the possible consequences, awaited the result of his impudent man[oe]uvre.