a Bona and Zuel, into the Ampezzan metropolis of Cortina,
at sundown.

The modest inn called "The Star of Gold" stood facing the public square,
just below the church, and the landlady stood facing us in the
doorway, with an enthusiastic welcome--altogether a most friendly and
entertaining landlady, whose one desire in life seemed to be that
we should never regret having chosen her house instead of "The White
Cross," or "The Black Eagle."

"O ja!" she had our telegram received; and would we look at the rooms?
Outlooking on the piazza, with a balcony from which we could observe
the Festa of to-morrow. She hoped they would please us. "Only come in;
accommodate yourselves."

It was all as she promised; three little bedrooms, and a little
salon opening on a little balcony; queer old oil-paintings and framed
embroideries and tiles hanging on the walls; spotless curtains, and
board floors so white that it would have been a shame to eat off them
without spreading a cloth to keep them from being soiled.

"These are the rooms of the Baron Rothschild when he comes here always
in the summer--with nine horses and nine servants--the Baron Rothschild
of Vienna."

I assured her that we did not know the Baron, but that should make no
difference. We would not ask her to reduce the price on account of a
little thing like that.

She did not quite grasp this idea, but hoped that we would not find
the pension too dear at a dollar and fifty-seven and a half cents a day
each, with a little extra for the salon and the balcony. "The
English people all please themselves here--there comes many every
summer--English Bishops and their families."

I inquired whether there were many Bishops in the house at that moment.

"No, just at present--she was very sorry--none."

"Well, then," I said, "it is all right. We will take the rooms."

Good Signora Barbaria, you did not speak the American language, nor
understand those curious perversions of thought which pass among the
Americans for humour; but you understood how to make a little inn
cheerful and home-like; yours was a very simple and agreeable art of
keeping a hotel. As we sat in the balcony after supper, listening to the
capital playing of the village orchestra, and the Tyrolese songs with
which they varied their music, we thought within ourselves that we were
fortunate to have fallen upon the Star of Gold.

II.

Cortina lies in its valley like a white shell that has rolled down
i