When she had gone, I washed myself and put on a clean shirt, and went downstairs. At a door at the foot of the stains stood the young lady who had by misfortune brought about this adventure. She led me into the room and to a lady who sat upon a sofa. The room was absolutely bare of ornament, and I knew that they were very poor. But it was not possible to think for a moment that Miss Grammont was anything but a lady. She was old-fashioned and precise in her attire, and she is perhaps forty years of age, but her face is as beautiful as a seraph's. She is calm and sweet and quiet. She is like a Venetian night--sweet and venerable, and moving to touches of soft music. I took tea with them both--a simple meal. We talked of art and of Italy. I brought down my sketches and my violin at their request. I played to them--all manner of things--and they did me the honour to be delighted. I am now in my own room again, and have expended my last candle whilst I have given myself the charming task to set down this day's adventures. My candle is so nearly burned out that it will not last another minute. I foresee that I shall go to bed in the---- CHAPTER II.--ON THE SECOND FLOOR. I have just found this manuscript among my music, and to charm a lonely evening I will continue it. I remember that the candle went out so suddenly that I lost the place of my pen, or I would have completed the sentence. In the morning I had other things to think of. My landlady came up for the picture and took it away. In five minutes I heard a step upon the stairs, and opening my door I saw Cecilia--I have not told you my little English angel's name until now--with the picture in her hands. For a moment I thought that my inestimable uncle had refused to accept it, but I saw by her smiling face that it was no misfortune which had brought her back. 'There is a gentleman downstairs, signor, who wishes to buy your picture. He is waiting in the hall. Shall I send him up? It is the gentleman who jumped from the cab yesterday and caused the accident.' I besought her not to take so much trouble, and myself ran downstairs. There was an Englishman, broad-shouldered, ruddy, and iron-grey, with bushy eyebrows and blue eyes and a square chin. 'Do you wish to see me, sir?' I asked him. 'If you're the painter of the picture I saw just now--yes.' 'It is something of a climb upstairs,' I warned him. He took the warning as an invitation, and went upstairs, stepping firmly and solidly in his heavy boots. When he reached my room, he took his hat off and I saw he was bald. He had a good face, and a high forehead, and he was evidently of the prosperous middle classes. Mademoiselle had left the room, and had placed the picture upon the easel. He looked round the room, and then faced the picture, square and business-like--like an Englishman. 'Ah!' he said, 'that's the picture, is it? H'm. What do you want for it?'