come down with me and secure my luggage. More trouble before I could
find a bedroom; hunting for keys, wandering up and down stone stairs
and along pitch-black corridors, sounds of voices in quarrel. The
room itself was utterly depressing--so bare, so grimy, so dark.
Quickly I examined the bed, and was rewarded. It is the good point
of Italian inns; be the house and the room howsoever sordid, the bed
is almost invariably clean and dry and comfortable.

I ate, not amiss; I drank copiously to the memory of Alaric, and
felt equal to any fortune. When night had fallen I walked a little
about the scarce-lighted streets and came to an open place, dark and
solitary and silent, where I could hear the voices of the two
streams as they mingled below the hill. Presently I passed an open
office of some kind, where a pleasant-looking man sat at a table
writing; on an impulse I entered, and made bold to ask whether
Cosenza had no better inn than the _Due Lionetti_. Great was this
gentleman's courtesy; he laid down his pen, as if for ever, and gave
himself wholly to my concerns. His discourse delighted me, so
flowing were the phrases, so rounded the periods. Yes, there were
other inns; one at the top of the town--the _Vetere_--in a very
good position; and they doubtless excelled my own in modern comfort.
As a matter of fact, it might be avowed that the _Lionetti_, from
the point of view of the great centres of civilization, left
something to be desired--something to be desired; but it was a
good old inn, a reputable old inn, and probably on further
acquaintance----

Further acquaintance did not increase my respect for the _Lionetti_;
it would not be easy to describe those features in which, most
notably, it fell short of all that might be desired. But I proposed