"Alas! Signor, nobody has been here; she lived so privately that she saw nobody."
"Not one person?" said Vivaldi, "consider well, Beatrice, had she no visitor?"
"Not of a long while, Signor, no visitors but yourself and her cousin Signor Giotto. The only other person that has been within these walls for many weeks, to the best of my remembrance, is a sister of the Convent, who comes for the silks my young lady embroiders."
"Embroiders! What convent?"
"The Santa Maria della Pieta, yonder, Signor; if you will step this way to the window, I will shew it you. Yonder, among the woods on the hill-side, just above those gardens that stretch down to the bay. There is an olive ground close beside it, and observe, Signor, there is a red and yellowish ridge of rocks rises over the woods higher still, and looks as if it would fall down upon those old spires. Have you found it, Signor?"
"How long is it since this sister came here?" said Vivaldi.
"Three weeks at least, Signor."
"And you are certain that no other person has called within that time?"
"No other, Signor, except the fisherman and the gardener, and a man who brings maccaroni, and such sort of things; for it is such a long way to Naples, Signor, and I have so little time."
"Three weeks, say you! You said three weeks, I think? Are you certain as to this?"