"My worthy aunt," I replied, with a tender recollection of that
preposterous woman.

Madame turned to Cristine, and spoke rapidly in a whisper.

"My father, sir," she said, addressing me, "is an old frail man,
little used to the company of strangers; but in former days he
has had kindness from members of your house, and it would be a
satisfaction to him, I think, to have the privilege of your
acquaintance."

She spoke with the air of a vizier who promises a traveller a
sight of the Grand Turk. I murmured my gratitude, and hastened
after Gianbattista. In an hour I had bathed, rid myself of my
beard, and arrayed myself in decent clothing. Then I strolled
out to inspect the little city, admired an altar-piece, chaffered
with a Jew for a cameo, purchased some small necessaries, and
returned early in the afternoon with a noble appetite for dinner.

The Tre Croci had been in happier days a Bishop's lodging, and
possessed a dining-hall ceiled with black oak and adorned with
frescos. It was used as a general salle a manger for all
dwellers in the inn, and there accordingly I sat down to my
long-deferred meal. At first there were no other diners, and I
had two maids, as well as Gianbattista, to attend on my wants.
Presently Madame d'Albani entered, escorted by Cristine and by a
tall gaunt serving-man, who seemed no part of the hostelry. The
landlord followed, bowing civilly, and the two women seated
themselves at the little table at the farther end. "Il Signor
Conte dines in his room," said Madame to the host, who withdrew