eplied the man. "Prince and Princess Colonna of
Rome have taken Monsieur Jeanrenaud's place for three years; it is one
of the finest on the lake. It is situated between the Villa Diodati
and that of Monsieur Lafin-de-Dieu, let to the Vicomtesse de Beauseant.
Prince Colonna has come to see his daughter and his son-in-law Prince
Gandolphini, a Neopolitan, or if you like, a Sicilian, an old adherent
of King Murat's, and a victim of the last revolution. These are the last
arrivals at Geneva, and they are not Milanese. Serious steps had to be
taken, and the Pope's interest in the Colonna family was invoked, to
obtain permission from the foreign powers and the King of Naples for the
Prince and Princess Gandolphini to live here. Geneva is anxious to
do nothing to displease the Holy Alliance to which it owes its
independence. _Our_ part is not to ruffle foreign courts; there are many
foreigners here, Russians and English."

"Even some Gevenese?"

"Yes, monsieur, our lake is so fine! Lord Byron lived here about seven
years at the Villa Diodati, which every one goes to see now, like Coppet
and Ferney."

"You cannot tell me whether within a week or so a bookseller from Milan
has come with his wife--named Lamporani, one of the leaders of the last
revolution?"

"I could easily find out by going to the Foreigners' Club," said the
jeweler.

Rodolphe's first walk was very naturally to the Villa Diodati, the
residence of Lord Byron, whose recent death added to its attractiveness:
for is not death the consecration of genius?

The road to Eaux-Vives follows the shore of the lake, and, like all the
roads in Switzerland, is very narrow; in some spots, in consequence of
the configuration of the hilly ground, there is scarcely space for two
carriages to pass each other.

At a few yards from the Jeanrenauds' house, which he was approaching
without knowing it, Rodolphe heard the sound of a carriage behind him,
and, finding himself in a sunk road, he climbed to the top of a rock to
leave the road free. Of course he looked at the approaching carriage--an
elegant English phaeton, with a splendid pair of English horses. He
felt quite dizzy as he beheld in this carriage Francesca, beautifully
dressed, by the side of an old lady as hard as a cameo. A servant
blazing with gold lace stood behind. Francesca recognized Rodolphe, and
smiled at seeing him like a statue on a pedestal. The carriage, which
the lover followed with his eyes as he climb