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From time to time we saw through the loopholes the glance of an eye, which
observed us in passing with curiosity; but it was impossible to discover whether
those eyes belonged to a male or female.

We at length reached the house, which I had pointed out to my guide, and
which, indeed, was the most respectable looking in the village. One thing only
struck me with surprise—the house apparently fortified by machicoulis, which
had first attracted my attention, was in reality not protected; that is, its
windows had neither planks, nor bricks, nor loop-holes, but only common sashes,
guarded at night by wooden shutters.

It is true that these shutters bore traces in which the eye of an observer
could not fail to recognize bullet-holes. But they were evidently of long
standing, and had probably been there some ten years or more.

My guide had hardly knocked at the door, when it was opened, not timidly,
with hesitation and only half way, but promptly, and in all its width, and a
footman made his appearance.

When I say a footman, I am mistaken, I should have said a man. It is the
livery that makes the footman; but the man who opened the door for us, was
simply dressed in a velvet vest and pantaloons of the same material, and leather
spatterdashes. His pantaloons were tied at the waist by a sash of spotted silk,
outside of which appeared the handle of a knife of Spanish fashion.

“My friend,” said I to him, “it is surely an indiscretion in a stranger who
knows not a single soul in Sullacaro, to request the hospitality of your
mistress?”

“No, certainly not, eccellenza,” said he, “the stranger confers a favor on
the house where he stops. Maria,” continued he, speaking to a servant girl who
came up behind him, “go and inform Madame Savilia that a French traveler calls
upon her to receive hospitality.”

At the same time he descended the eight steps, stiff and upright, like the
degrees of a ladder, which led from the entry door, and took my horse by the
bridle.

I took advantage of this kind invitation to ease and indulgence, one of the
most agreeable that can he made to a traveler. I then undertook to ascend with
as little difficulty as possible the aforesaid ladder, and advanced some steps
into the interior.

At a turn of the corridor, I suddenly found myself before a tall lady,
dressed in black, apparently between thirty-eight and forty years of age, yet
still beautiful. I immediately concluded that this was the mistress of the
house, and I stopped.

“Madame,” said I, with a bow, “you will find me very indiscreet; but the
custom of the country excuses me, and the invitation of your servant has
authorized me to enter.”

“You are welcome to the mother,” answered Madame de Franchi, “and you will
soon be welcomed by the son. From this moment, sir, the house belongs to
you—dispose of it as your own.”

“I ask your hospitality for one night only, madame. To-morrow morning, at
daybreak, I shall have to take my leave.”

“You are at liberty to do as you please, sir; but I hope you will abandon
that plan, and favor us with a longer stay.”

I bowed a second time.

“Maria,” continued Madame de Franchi, “show the gentleman to Louis’ room.
Make a fire immediately, and bring up some warm water. Excuse me,” continued
she, addressing me again, while in the mean time the girl prepared to execute
her orders, “I know that the first want of the traveler is fire and water.
Please to follow the girl, and ask her for the things you may be in need of. We
take supper in an hour, and my son, who will be in before that time, will have
the pleasure, with your permission, of introducing himself to your presence.”

“You will excuse my traveling dress, I hope, madame.”

“Yes, sir,” said she, with a smile, “but on condition that on your side you
will excuse the rusticity of this reception.”

The servant girl went up stairs—I bowed a last time, and followed her.

The room was situated in the first story, and had its windows on the back
part of the house, commanding a view of a handsome garden, planted with myrtle
trees and laurel roses; a charming rivulet passed through it, carrying its pure
water to the Taravo. In the background the view was intercepted by a sort of
hedge of fir trees, planted so near to each other as to have the appearance of a
wall. Like all the rooms in Italian houses, the partition walls were
whitewashed, and ornamented with landscapes painted in fresco.