One night, after spending the day in the Catacombs, which are nothing more than cities of the dead, under ground, and after tumbling over my companions, and treading on the heels of the guide, I came home hoping for a quiet, peaceful evening. Finding, however, an invitation to spend that evening with a lady who lived at the other end of the palace, I felt bound to accept it. As I passed along the dark, narrow entry, which seemed like going through the Catacombs again, I heard a patter, patter, patter, on the brick floor. I supported myself by putting my hands out until they touched the sides of the tube, for I was just the least bit frightened. The sound was approaching me; but I dared not turn my back. It echoed from the walls and the high ceiling, and the whole air seemed filled with a weird noise. I tiptoed along, when suddenly my foot came down directly upon a pigeon. Only those who have been wandering about all day in caverns can imagine what it is to feel the flutter of a live pigeon under your very tread, and this, too, in the dark. This pigeon reeled to his left, and I to my right, which, of course, brought us together again. He flapped and fluttered, I panted and screamed. He flew to his right, I to my left, and again we met. If I had known that it was only a pigeon, I should not have been afraid. I am not afraid of a pigeon, I hope! But I did not know what it was, and the whizzing, and the fluttering, and the panting, and the shrieks so resounded from the roof above, that I had a mind to cry out for help. The landlady, who in that country is called _padrona_, knew that all was not quiet in her dwelling: so she shortly appeared at one end of the tube, with a dim candle. This so alarmed the pigeon, that he was more frightened than I. He turned to the other opening just at the moment when two young ladies appeared there with a light. What could the poor thing do!--a woman at one end, two women at the other, and a greater obstacle, which was myself, in the centre. He could not fly far, for his wings had been clipped; but, exerting what wing-power he had, he whizzed over my head into empty space. When I ran away, he seemed to be balancing himself upon nothing. There was no beam under that roof, upon which he could alight; and how he bore his plight I did not wait to see. But the funniest thing about this pigeon was his manner of treating me the next morning, and, indeed, as long as I remained in Rome. I often met him in various parts of the house; and as I approached he would throw back his head, swell his white throat, wink at me,--first with one eye, then with the other,--and then, with a quick prance, get by me. I think pigeons have a language of their own; for his winks said plainly, "Come on, if you want to try that game again! Who's afraid!" But I never moved a muscle as I glided by him. I didn't want him to know that my heart went pit-a-pat when he gave me those side glances.