we agreed that it would be a capital place for work, in the way of reading, writing, and study.
While Richard was settling something, and drinking a cup of coffee, I asked the amo to let me inspect the house, and see if I could not find better accommodation; but he assured me that every nook and cranny was occupied. I explored an open belvedere at the top of the house, a garret half occupied by a photographer in the daytime, and the courtyard, and was going back in despair, when I came upon a long, lofty, dusty, deserted-looking loft, with thirty-two hard, straight-backed kitchen chairs in it. I counted them from curiosity.
"What," I asked, "is this?"
"Oh," he replied, "we call this the sala, but no one ever comes into it; so we use it as a lumber-room, and the workwomen sit here."
"Will you give me this?" I asked again.
"Willingly," he replied, looking nevertheless as surprised as if I had asked to sleep in the courtyard; "and, moreover, you can run over the house, and ask Bernardo [a peasant servant] to give you whatever furniture you may choose."
I was not long in thanking him and carrying his offer into execution. Bernardo and I speedily fraternized, and we soon had the place broomed and aired. It had evidently been the ballroom or reception-room of the defunct Marchesa in palmy days. Stone walls painted white, a wood floor with chinks in it, through which you could see the patio below, and through which "brave rats and mice" fearlessly came
