But first of all I must make a confession. When I ascended through the tropical heat to the marble roof of the cathedral, I expected so much that I was disappointed. Surprise goes for so much in what we admire. Neither this mountain of marble, nor the lacework and pinnacles which adorn the enormous mass, nor the amazing number of statues, nor the sight of men smaller than flies on the Piazza del Duomo, nor the vast stretch of flat country which spreads for miles on every side of the city--none of these sights kindled the spark of enthusiasm within me which has often glowed for much less. No, what pleased me was something quite different, a detail not noticed in the guide-books, I suppose. I had come down from the roof and was wandering in the vast nave from pillar to pillar, when I found myself beneath the lantern. I raised my eyes, but the flood of golden light compelled me to close them. The sunlight passing through the yellow glass of the windows overhead encircled the mighty vault of the lantern with a fiery crown, and played around the walls of its cage in rays which, growing fainter as they fell, flooded the floor with their expiring flames, a mysterious dayspring, a diffused glory, through which litany and sacred chant winged their way up toward the Infinite. I left the cathedral tired out, dazed with weariness and sunlight, and fell asleep in a chair as soon as I got back to my room, on the fifth floor of the Albergo dell' Agnello. I had been asleep for about an hour, perhaps, when I thought I heard a voice near me repeating "Illustre Signore!" I did not wake. The voice continued with a murmur of sibilants: "Illustrissimo Signore!" This drew me from my sleep, for the human ear is very susceptible to superlatives. "What is it?" "A letter for your lordship. As it is marked 'Immediate,' I thought I might take the liberty of disturbing your lordship's slumbers." "You did quite right, Tomaso." "You owe me eight sous, signore, which I paid for the postage." "There's half a franc, keep the change." He retired calling me Monsieur le Comte; and all for two sous-- O fatherland of Brutus! The letter was from Lampron, who had forgotten to put a stamp on it. "MY DEAR FRIEND: "Madame Plumet, to whom I believe you have given no instructions so to do, is at present busying herself considerably about your affairs. I felt I ought to warn you, because she is all heart and no brains, and I have often seen before the trouble into which an overzealous friend may get one, especially if the friend be a woman. "I fear some serious indiscretion has been committed, for the following reasons.