lover, and he hesitated for some time; but after a final appeal to his
courage he went on with a firm step as far as the house, which he
recognized without difficulty.

There he stopped once more. Was the woman really what he fancied her?
Was he not on the verge of some false move?

At this juncture he remembered the Italian table d'hote, and at once
jumped at the middle course, which would serve the ends alike of his
curiosity and of his reputation. He went in to dine, and made his way
down the passage; at the bottom, after feeling about for some time, he
found a staircase with damp, slippery steps, such as to an Italian
nobleman could only seem a ladder.

Invited to the first floor by the glimmer of a lamp and a strong smell
of cooking, he pushed a door which stood ajar and saw a room dingy
with dirt and smoke, where a wench was busy laying a table for about
twenty customers. None of the guests had yet arrived.

After looking round the dimly lighted room where the paper was
dropping in rags from the walls, the gentleman seated himself by a
stove which was roaring and smoking in the corner.

Attracted by the noise the Count made in coming in and disposing of
his cloak, the major-domo presently appeared. Picture to yourself a
lean, dried-up cook, very tall, with a nose of extravagant dimensions,
casting about him from time to time, with feverish keenness, a glance
that he meant to be cautious. On seeing Andrea, whose attire bespoke
considerable affluence, Signor Giardini bowed respectfully.