It would have ill become me to dispute the excellent ecclesiastic’s wishes, and Tartaglia and the rest of the company having been sworn to secrecy, I reappeared that very evening in one of my favourite parts, and was afterward carried back to the monastery in the most private manner.  The Signorina Malmocco’s successes soon repaired the loss occasioned by her brother’s withdrawal, and if any suspected their identity all were interested to conceal their suspicions.

Thus it came about that my visit to Pianura, having begun under the roof of a Bishop, ended in a monastery of Barnabites—­nor have I any cause to complain of the hospitality of either of my hosts...

***

Odo, charmed by the vivacity with which this artless narrative was related, pressed Miranda to continue the history of her adventures.  The actress laughingly protested that she must first refresh herself with one of the ices he had so handsomely provided; and meanwhile she begged the Count to favour them with a song.

This gentleman, who seemed glad of any pretext for detaching himself from his elderly flame, rescued Mirandolina’s lute from the inquisitive fingering of the monkey, and striking a few melancholy chords, sang the following words, which he said he had learned from a peasant of the Abruzzi:—­

    Flower of the thyme! 
    She draws me as your fragrance draws the bees,
    She draws me as the cold moon draws the seas,
    And summer winter-time.

    Flower of the broom! 
    Like you she blossoms over dark abysses,
    And close to ruin bloom her sweetest kisses,
    And on the brink of doom.

    Flower of the rue! 
    She wore you on her breast when first we met. 
    I begged your blossom and I wear it yet—­
    Flower of regret!

The song ended, the prima amorosa, overcome by what she visibly deemed an appeal to her feelings, declared with some agitation that the hour was late and she must withdraw.  Miranda wished the actress an affectionate goodnight and asked the Count to light her to her room, which was on the farther side of the gallery surrounding the courtyard of the inn.  Castelrovinato complied with his usual air of resignation, and the door closing on the couple, Odo and Miranda found themselves alone.

“And now,” said the good-natured girl, placing herself on the sofa and turning to her guest with a smile, “if you will take a seat at my side I will gladly continue the history of my adventures"...

2.9.

Odo woke with a start.  He had been trying to break down a great gold-barred gate, behind which Fulvia, pale and disordered, struggled in the clutch of the blind beggar of the Corpus Domini...

He sat up and looked about him.  The gate was still there; but as he gazed it resolved itself into his shuttered window, barred with wide lines of sunlight.  It was day, then!  He sprang out of bed and flung open the shutters.  Beneath him lay the piazza of Vercelli, bathed in the vertical brightness of a summer noon; and as he stared out on this inexorable scene, the clock over the Hospital struck twelve.