seek inspiration from the skies and the wide world of evening air. As Pick approached the window, with his usual look of wistful anxiety to be allowed to do what was right, and tacit disapproval of lawless habits, the Signor stepped through, smiling. “I think you will shut me out some night, Pick,” he said, “and then you will have my blood on your soul--for what could I do upon the terrace? I should fall asleep and tumble over, and be picked up in little pieces at the foot of the hill.” “Ah! I don’t feel no fear of that, sir,” said Pickering, shaking his head; “you’ve got too good a voice for that, sir. I don’t make no doubt that you could hold an A sharp till you frighted the whole Abbey. And besides I always looks out; I’ve got the habit in this house. Even the girl, she’ll go and stand at the window, as if the view was any matter to her; it’s a thing as carries one away. But I don’t hold with leaving all open when the lights are lighted. Bless you, the top windows in the street with a spyglass, or even with good eyes like what I had when I was young, they could see in.” “Much good it would do them,” said the Signor, sitting down before his piano. And indeed it is quite true that as he sat close to the window, relieved against the light of the lamp within, there were eyes at the top windows opposite which could catch with difficulty the outline of the Signor’s pale profile and black moustache. Some of the young ladies in the shops would climb up occasionally and show that exciting prospect to a friend. But it was an amusement which palled after the first moment, and certainly did no harm to the Signor. “Maybe not much good, sir,” said old Pick, who always would have the last word; “but it might do harm. You never can tell what folks will say. The less they know the more they’ll talk; and that’s true all the world over; though I will say for the Abbey as it’s as bad or worse than most other places.” “Why should it be worse, Pick?” “I don’t know, sir--unless it’s the clergy and the chevaliers. You see, when gentlemen has little or nothing to do, they’re brought down to the level of the women, so far as that goes--and as gentlemen always does things more thorough than the women when they’re once started, the consequence nat’rally is--Leastways that’s my notion of it,” said Pick;--“the women haven’t the strength to start a real talking as does harm. They tries hard--as hard as they knows how--but bless you, in that as in most things, they wants a man to show ’em the way.” “That is a new view, Pick. I thought if there was one thing in which the ladies had the advantage of us----”