sure--by merely opening a door when Mantovani was occupied, now it had
departed to another planet. Remember those were my 'prentice days when I
lived obscurely and absolutely without acquaintance in the Marquesa's
world. She seemed as inaccessible as the Grand Lama. But you know how
things will come about in least expected ways: Jane Morrison, quite the
only human being who could possibly have known both the Marquesa and me,
actually gave me a very good letter of introduction. Then almost
oppressive good luck, came a note from her mountain Castle, telling that
the Chatelaine would be glad to receive me whenever my travels led me her
way. She mentioned our common enthusiasm for the Venetians and graciously
wanted my opinion on the Giorgione, which the enemies of Mantovani, her
friend and my spiritual father, as she called him, had spitefully
slandered. Such slanders had never happened to reach my ears but I was
already eager to refute them.

"It was two years later that I made the visit on the way to the Prado.
All day long the diligence rattled up hill away from the railroad, and it
was dusk before I saw the Del Puente stronghold on its crag, evidently a
half hour's walk from the miserable _fonda_ where the diligence dropped
me. It was no hour to present an introduction, but I bribed a boy to take
the letter up that night. He returned, disappointingly, without an
answer. The next morning wore on intolerably amid a noisy squalor that I
could not escape until my summons came. It was early afternoon before an
equerry arrived on muleback bearing the Marquesa's note. She was
enchanted to meet me but desolated at the unlucky time of my arrival.
Tomorrow she crossed the Pyrenees for Paris and hoped my route might lie
that way. Meanwhile her home was wholly dismantled for the winter, and
the ordinary hospitalities were denied her. But she counted on the
pleasure of seeing me at four; we might at least chat, drink a cup of
tea, and pay our homage to Mantovani's 'Zorzi.' Nothing could have been