face with
the mist which seemed to be destroying the dark edifices of Rome, that he
did not hear himself called. At last, however, he felt a tap on the
shoulder: "Monsieur l'Abbe!" And then as he turned he saw Victorine, who
said to him: "It is half-past nine; the cab is there. Giacomo has already
taken your luggage down. You must come away, Monsieur l'Abbe."

Then seeing him blink, still dazed as it were, she smiled and added: "You
were bidding Rome goodbye. What a frightful sky there is."

"Yes, frightful," was his reply.

Then they descended the stairs. He had handed her a hundred-franc note to
be shared between herself and the other servants. And she apologised for
going down before him with the lamp, explaining that the old palace was
so dark that evening one could scarcely see.

Ah! that departure, that last descent through the black and empty
mansion, it quite upset Pierre's heart. He gave his room that glance of
farewell which always saddened him, even when he was leaving a spot where
he had suffered. Then, on passing Don Vigilio's chamber, whence there
only came a quivering silence, he pictured the secretary with his head
buried in his pillows, holding his breath for fear lest he should speak
and attract vengeance. But it was in particular on the second and first
floor landings, on passing the closed doors of Donna Serafina and the
Cardinal, that Pierre quivered with apprehension at hearing nothing but
the silence of the grave. And as he followed Victorine, who, lamp in
hand, was still descending, he thought of the brother and sister who were
left alone in the ruined palace, last relics of a world which had half
passed away. All hope of life had departed with Benedetta and Dario, no
resurrection could come from that old maid and that priest who was bound
to chastity. Ah! those interminable and lugubrious passages, that frigid
and gigantic staircase which seemed to descend into nihility, those huge
halls with cracking walls where all was wretchedness and abandonment! And
that inner court, looking like a cemetery with its weeds and its damp
porticus, where remnants of Apollos and Venuses were rotting! And the
little deserted garden, fragrant with ripe oranges, whither nobody now
would ever stray, where none would ever meet that adorable Contessina
under the laurels near the sarcophagus! All was now annihilated in
abominable mourning, in a death-like silence, amidst which the two last
Boccaneras must wait, in s