At last the garden gate was opened. A small man, wrapped in a cloak, approached, took Fra Angelo by the hand, whispered to him for some moments, then turned to Michel, bade him enter, and walked before them, after closing the gate. They walked through the long arbor which formed a cross extending the whole length and width of the garden, and entered the house through a sort of rustic porch formed of large pillars covered with vine and jasmine. Their host then ushered them into a large room, neatly and simply furnished, where everything indicated regularity and sobriety on the part of the owner. There he invited them to sit, and, stretching himself out on an enormous couch covered with red silk, coolly lighted his cigar; then, without any demonstration of friendliness toward the monk, he waited for him to speak. He showed no impatience, no curiosity. He gave his whole attention to removing his brown cloak lined with pink, carefully folding it, and rearranging his silk sash, as if he desired to be perfectly comfortable while listening to what they had to say to him. But what was Michel's surprise when he finally recognized in the young _villano_ of Nicolosi the stranger who had caused a momentary sensation at the princess's ball, and with whom he had exchanged a few far from friendly words on the stoop of the palace! He was disturbed by the thought that that incident was unlikely to dispose in his favor the man at whose hands he was about to ask a service. But the Piccinino did not seem to recognize him, and Michel concluded that it would be as well not to remind him of that unpleasant incident. He had plenty of leisure to examine his features and to seek therein some indication of his character. But it was impossible for him to detect any trace of emotion, of determination, of any human feeling, on that impassive and expressionless face. It was not even impertinent, although his attitude and his silence might seem to denote a purpose to display contempt.