It was one of those burning days common to that time of the year in Italy, and much as I despised and cursed those drain-like alleys in wet weather, yet I now saw there was method in the madness of their style of building, for their cool shadow and humid atmosphere was wonderfully pleasant after the glare, the dust, and heat of the great piazza. We walked on the broad carriage-way, which was less painful to the feet than the cobble-stone paving between, and every now and then saw some typical picture of Italian life. A dark-faced woman with a red handkerchief twisted carelessly round her head, leaning from a high balcony, on the iron railings of which was displayed the family washing; a purple cloud of wisteria blooming in some pergola near the red roof-tops; sleek grey donkeys laden with panniers, stepping complacently along the narrow way; slender Italian men presiding over fruit-stalls, piled high with their picturesque contents; and over all, the vivacious clatter and din of voices, struck through at times with the sharp, metallic notes of the mandolin. It was very charming, and, I would have enjoyed it thoroughly, artistically speaking, had it not been for the local odours. Oh, the smells of those picturesque streets! they were too terrible for description; and how the Italians are not swept off the face of the earth by a plague of typhoid is more than I can understand. I smoked cigarettes most of the time, as a preventive against infection; but on beholding ideal paintings of Italian scenes, I always shudder at the memory of the malodorous reality, and on arriving in well-drained London again, my first prayer was one of thanks for having escaped from ill-smelling Italy. My thoughts during this portentous walk were, I am afraid, rather frivolous; but so fearful had been the strain on my nerves for the past few days, that it was a great relief to think idly of anything and any one. Not so Bianca; even through her veil I could see the glisten of tears, and catch the sound of her quick indrawn breath as she strove to fight down the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. I saw that the poor child was nearly hysterical with her efforts to control herself, and stopped short in dismay. "Signorina, you are not well. Do not go to this palazzo." "Yes, yes! I must, Signor Hugo. I cannot pass another night in this state of suspense. I must know all, and at once. Is the Palazzo Morone far off?" "We are just at it, Signorina."