as if it had rather missed its career. But its wide front,
with a stone balcony from end to end of the piano nobile or most
important floor, was architectural enough, with the aid of various
pilasters and arches; and the stucco with which in the intervals
it had long ago been endued was rosy in the April afternoon.
It overlooked a clean, melancholy, unfrequented canal,
which had a narrow riva or convenient footway on either side.
"I don't know why--there are no brick gables," said Mrs. Prest,
"but this corner has seemed to me before more Dutch than Italian,
more like Amsterdam than like Venice. It's perversely clean,
for reasons of its own; and though you can pass on foot scarcely anyone
ever thinks of doing so. It has the air of a Protestant Sunday.
Perhaps the people are afraid of the Misses Bordereau.
I daresay they have the reputation of witches."

I forget what answer I made to this--I was given up to two
other reflections. The first of these was that if the old lady
lived in such a big, imposing house she could not be in any
sort of misery and therefore would not be tempted by a chance
to let a couple of rooms. I expressed this idea to Mrs. Prest,
who gave me a very logical reply. "If she didn't live in a big
house how could it be a question of her having rooms to spare?
If she were not amply lodged herself you would lack ground
to approach her. Besides, a big house here, and especially
in this quartier perdu, proves nothing at all:
it is perfectly compatible with a state of penury.
Dilapidated old palazzi, if you will go out of the way for them,
are to be had for five shillings a year. And as for the people
who live in them--no, until you have explored Venice socially as much
as I have you can form no idea of their domestic desolation.