subsided into a cold and dull vacuity. He turned his eyes full
upon the withered face that was puckering itself into a smile,
but seemed to behold it not. The old dame, therefore, laid her
grasp upon his cloak.

"Signor! signor!" whispered she, still with a smile over the
whole breadth of her visage, so that it looked not unlike a
grotesque carving in wood, darkened by centuries. "Listen,
signor! There is a private entrance into the garden!"

"What do you say?" exclaimed Giovanni, turning quickly about, as
if an inanimate thing should start into feverish life. "A private
entrance into Dr. Rappaccini's garden?"

"Hush! hush! not so loud!" whispered Lisabetta, putting her hand
over his mouth. "Yes; into the worshipful doctor's garden, where
you may see all his fine shrubbery. Many a young man in Padua
would give gold to be admitted among those flowers."

Giovanni put a piece of gold into her hand.

"Show me the way," said he.

A surmise, probably excited by his conversation with Baglioni,
crossed his mind, that this interposition of old Lisabetta might
perchance be connected with the intrigue, whatever were its
nature, in which the professor seemed to suppose that Dr.
Rappaccini was involving him. But such a suspicion, though it
disturbed Giovanni, was inadequate to restrain him. The instant
that he was aware of the possibility of approaching Beatrice, it