ral
people were working in the gardens, I ventured in to have a look at
it. I will not attempt description, but just say that both within and
without it realizes all I ever dreamed or imagined of an Italian villa.
Marble and frescos and fountains, terraces descending to the sea, and
gardens a wilderness of orange and magnolia, and grand old rooms, the
very air of which breathed splendor and magnificence; but _a quoi
bon?_ dear Alice. It was a _palazzotto reale_, and one could only gaze
enviously at delights they could not hope to compass.

"Seeing my intense admiration of the place, the man who showed me around
it said, as I was coming away, that it was rumored that the Count would
not be indisposed to sell the property. I know enough of Italians to be
aware that when a stranger supposed to be rich: all English are in this
category--is struck with anything--picture, house, or statue--the owner
will always part with it at tenfold its value. Half out of curiosity,
half to give myself the pretext for another morning's ramble over the
delicious place, I asked where I could learn any details as to the
value, and received an address as follows: 'Count Carlo Caffarelli,
Villino del Boschetto, Chiaja, Naples.' Caffarelli I at once remembered
as the name of Maitland's friend, and in this found another reason
for calling on him, since I had totally failed in all my attempts to
discover M. either in London, Paris, or even here.

"The same evening I went there, and found Count Caffarelli in one of
those fairy-tale little palaces which this country abounds in. He had
some friends at dinner, but on reading my name, recognized me, and came
out with a most charming politeness to press me to join his party. It
was no use refusing; the Italian persuasiveness has that element of the
irresistible about it that one cannot oppose; and I soon found myself
smoking my cigar in a company of half a dozen people who treated me as
an intimate friend.

"I may amuse you some day by some of the traits of their _bonhomie_.
I must now confine myself to our more immediate interests. Caffarelli,
when he found that I wanted some information about the villa, drew
his arm within my own, and, taking me away from the rest, told me in
strictest confidence that the villa was Maitland's,--Maitland being the
Conte d'Amalfi,--the title having been conferred by the late King, one
of the very last acts of his life.

"'And Maitland,' said I, scarcely recovering fr