At length they shot beneath a low bridge, and stopped at some steps immediately beyond.  Here one of the men, getting out, proceeded to act as guide to the stranger.  They had not far to go.  They passed first of all into a long, low, and foul-smelling archway, in the middle of which was a narrow aperture protected by an iron gate.  The man lit a candle, opened the gate, and preceded his companion along a passage and up a stone staircase.  The atmosphere of the place was damp and sickly; the staircase was not more than three feet in width; the feeble glimmer of the candle did but little to dispel the darkness.  Even that was withdrawn; for the guide, having knocked thrice at a door, blew out the candle, and retreated down-stairs.

“The night is dark, brother.”

“The dawn is near.”

Instantly the door was thrown open; the dark figure of a man was seen against the light; he said, “Come in! come in!” and his hand was outstretched.  The stranger seemed greatly surprised.

“What, you, Calabressa!” he exclaimed.  “Your time has not yet expired!”

“What, no?  My faith, I have made it expire!” said the other, airily, and introducing a rather badly pronounced French word or two into his Italian.  “But come in, come in; take a seat.  You are early; you may have to wait.”

He was an odd-looking person, this tall, thin, elderly man, with the flowing yellow-white hair and the albino eyes.  There was a semi-military look about his braided coat; but, on the other hand, he wore the cap of a German student—­of purple velvet, with a narrow leather peak.  He seemed to be proud of his appearance.  He had a gay manner.

“Yes, I am escaped.  Ah, how fine it is!  You walk about all day as you please; you smoke cigarettes; you have your coffee; you go to look at the young English ladies who come to feed the pigeons in the place.”

He raised two fingers to his lips, and blew a kiss to all the world.

“Such complexions!  A wild rose in every cheek!  But listen, now; this is not about an English young lady.  I go up to the Church of St. Mark—­besides the bronze horses.  I am enjoying the air, when I hear a sound; I turn; over there I see open windows; ah! the figure in the white dressing-gown!  It is the diva herself.  They play the Barbiere to-night, and she is practicing as she dusts her room. Una voce poco fa—­it thrills all through the square.  She puts the ornaments on the mantel-piece straight. Lo giurai, la vincero!—­she goes to the mirror and makes the most beautiful attitude.  Ah, what a spectacle—­the black hair all down—­the white dressing-gown—­In sono docile”—­and again he kissed his two fingers.  Then he said,

“But now, you.  You do not look one day older.  And how is Natalie?”

“Natalie is well, I believe,” said the other, gravely.

“You are a strange man.  You have not a soft heart for the pretty creatures of the world; you are implacable.  The little Natalushka, then; how is she?”