way to it, however, remembering the promise that I had made Don Ottavio and also, if the truth must be told, the unpleasant reception that a much less audacious proceeding had earned for me a few days before.
I went my way, therefore, but slowly, vexed to lose this last occasion of penetrating the mystery of the house No. 13. At every step that I took I turned my head, fully expecting to see a human form ascending or descending by the rope-ladder. Nothing appeared. At last I came to the end of the viccolo; I was about to enter the Corso.
"Adieu, Madame Lucrèce," said I, taking off my hat to the house that was still visible to me where I stood. "Please see if you can't find some other one than me upon whom to wreak your vengeance against the jealous husband who keeps you in bondage."
It was striking two when I returned to my hotel. The carriage was standing in the courtyard, all packed and ready. One of the hotel attendants handed me a letter. It was Don Ottavio's, and as it seemed to be a long one I thought that it would be better to read it in my room, so I told the waiter to go before with a light.
"Monsieur," he said, "the domestic that you spoke to us of, he who was to travel with Monsieur"
"Well, is he arrived?"
"No, sir."
"He is at the post; he will come with the horses."
"Monsieur, there came a lady a little while ago who asked to speak to Monsieur's domestic. She insisted upon going up to Monsieur's apartment, and instructed
