covered--accidentally, so far as he was concerned, though with a
purpose on her part--that there was a guest under Donatello's roof,
whose presence the Count did not suspect. An interview had since taken
place, and he was now summoned to another.

He crossed the chapel, in compliance with Tomaso's instructions, and,
passing through the side entrance, found himself in a saloon, of no
great size, but more magnificent than he had supposed the villa to
contain. As it was vacant, Kenyon had leisure to pace it once or twice,
and examine it with a careless sort of scrutiny, before any person
appeared.

This beautiful hall was floored with rich marbles, in artistically
arranged figures and compartments. The walls, likewise, were almost
entirely cased in marble of various kinds, the prevalent, variety
being giallo antico, intermixed with verd-antique, and others equally
precious. The splendor of the giallo antico, however, was what gave
character to the saloon; and the large and deep niches, apparently
intended for full length statues, along the walls, were lined with the
same costly material. Without visiting Italy, one can have no idea of
the beauty and magnificence that are produced by these fittings-up of
polished marble. Without such experience, indeed, we do not even know
what marble means, in any sense, save as the white limestone of which
we carve our mantelpieces. This rich hall of Monte Beni, moreover, was
adorned, at its upper end, with two pillars that seemed to consist of
Oriental alabaster; and wherever there was a space vacant of precious
and variegated marble, it was frescoed with ornaments in arabesque.
Above, there was a coved and vaulted ceiling, glowing with pictured
scenes, which affected Kenyon with a vague sense of splendor, without
his twisting his neck to gaze at them.

It is one of the special excellences of such a saloon of polished and
richly colored marble, that decay can never tarnish it. Until the house
crumbles down upon it, it shines indestructibly, and, with a little
dusting, looks just as brilliant in its three hundredth year as the day
after the final slab of giallo antico was fitted into the wall. To the
sculptor, at this first View of it, it seemed a hall where the sun was
magically imprisoned, and must always shine. He anticipated Miriam's
entrance, arrayed in queenly robes, and beaming with even more than the
singular beauty that had heretofore distinguished her.

While this thought wa