ed for Florence,
intending to stop nowhere till he reached that city, he hoped that
by this chivalrous journey he might even yet achieve the thing
necessary.

But on reaching Paris he heard tidings of Mrs. Arabin which induced
him to change his plans and make for Venice instead of for Florence.
A banker at Paris, to who whom he brought a letter, told him that Mrs
Arabin would now be found at Venice. This did not perplex him at all.
It would have been delightful to have seen Florence,--but was more
delightful still to see Venice. His journey was the same as far as
Turin; but from Turin he proceeded through Milan to Venice, instead
of going by Bologna to Florence. He had fortunately come armed with
an Austrian passport,--as was necessary in those bygone days of
Venetia's thraldom. He was almost proud of himself, as though he
had done something great, when he tumbled in to his inn at Venice,
without having been in a bed since he left London.

But he was barely allowed to swim in a gondola, for on reaching
Venice he found that Mrs. Arabin had gone back to Florence. He had
been directed to the hotel which Mrs. Arabin had used, and was there
told that she had started the day before. She had received some
letter, from her husband as the landlord thought, and had done so.
That was all the landlord knew. Johnny was vexed, but became a little
prouder than before as he felt it to be his duty to go on to Florence
before he went to bed. There would be another night in a railway
carriage, but he would live through it. There was just time to have
a tub and a breakfast, to swim in a gondola, to look at the outside
of the Doge's palace, and to walk up and down the piazza before he
started again. It was hard work, but I think he would have been
pleased had he heard that Mrs. Arabin had retreated from Florence to
Rome. Had such been the case, he would have folded his cloak around
him, and have gone on,--regardless of brigands,--thinking of Lily,
and wondering whether anybody else had ever done so much before
without going to bed. As it was, he found that Mrs. Arabin was at the
hotel in Florence,--still in bed, as he had arrived early in the
morning. So he had another tub, another breakfast, and sent up his
card. "Mr. John Eames",--and across the top of it he wrote, "has come
from England about Mr. Crawley." Then he threw himself on a sofa in
the hotel reading-room, and went fast to sleep.

John had found an opportunity of talking to a