she had not hidden herself away in an undiscoverable hole;
she had boldly settled down in a city of exhibition.
The only secret of her safety that we could perceive was that
Venice contained so many curiosities that were greater than she.
And then accident had somehow favored her, as was shown
for example in the fact that Mrs. Prest had never happened
to mention her to me, though I had spent three weeks
in Venice--under her nose, as it were--five years before.
Mrs. Prest had not mentioned this much to anyone;
she appeared almost to have forgotten she was there.
Of course she had not the responsibilities of an editor.
It was no explanation of the old woman's having eluded us to say
that she lived abroad, for our researches had again and again
taken us (not only by correspondence but by personal inquiry)
to France, to Germany, to Italy, in which countries, not counting
his important stay in England, so many of the too few years
of Aspern's career were spent. We were glad to think at least
that in all our publishings (some people consider I believe
that we have overdone them), we had only touched in passing
and in the most discreet manner on Miss Bordereau's connection.
Oddly enough, even if we had had the material (and we often
wondered what had become of it), it would have been the most
difficult episode to handle.

The gondola stopped, the old palace was there; it was a house of the class
which in Venice carries even in extreme dilapidation the dignified name.
"How charming! It's gray and pink!" my companion exclaimed;
and that is the most comprehensive description of it.
It was not particularly old, only two or three centuries;
and it had an air not so much of decay as of quiet discouragement,