As I glanced up, a figure suddenly appeared at the head of the stairway, and leaning one hand on the balustrade, peered down into the dim light below it. I recognised the extraordinary dress at once, and a moment's survey of the face assured me it was my host of the hovel, he who had so strangely disappeared with the girl, when I fought with Brico at Perugia. "A good day to you, friend!" I called out, "and well met." "Who calls? Who is there?" he answered. "One moment, let me climb up these stairs," and I made my way to the landing, and held out my hand. He took it in silence, but his grip was warm. "Signore," he said after a moment, "I do not know your name; but whoever you are, Mathew Corte owes you much, and will some day show himself grateful." "My name," I said, "for the present is Donati, and as for gratitude there is no need to speak of it." As he mentioned his name, I remembered that there was a madman so called, who had come into notoriety years ago, by asserting that he had discovered the secret of prolonging life to a hundred and twenty years. He had, I heard, written a book in which this was fully described, and presented it to the Cibo pope, with the inscription, _videbis dies Petri et ultra_. Long after, I heard Cardinal Bembo tell, in his witty way, how this same Corte presented his book to three successive popes, ending with Innocent of Genoa, adding that he took care on each occasion to substitute a new title-page and dedication. "But," the cardinal was wont to add, "it is against the canon, for our Lord the Pope to go in any matter, even in life, beyond the Holy Apostle, and therefore, no doubt, the worthy doctor's prescriptions were not followed. Such are the sacrifices the church has to make." "How long have you been here?" I asked. "Some days." "And we have never met!" "Ah! The place is like a rabbit-warren. There are hundreds here. But it is odd that I have never seen you." "Not so very odd when I come to think of it," and I looked down at my shabby attire. "It is generally late when I go out." He held out one leg, clothed in its fantastic dress. "I too am on the rocks," and he laughed bitterly, "and feed with the goats." Wishing to change the subject, I inquired about the girl. He turned away to the window, and when he looked back the man's eyes were full of tears. "Would you care to see?" he asked, with a shake in his voice. I bowed gravely, and he conducted me upstairs, fully two flights beyond my room, and then stopped on a small landing. Through the half-open door that faced us, a little dog came out, and looked wistfully at Corte. He stooped to stroke it, and then rising, passed into the room. When he had gone beyond the door, he looked back at me, saying "enter."