OppositetheVolterragateofMonteriano,outsidethecity,isaveryrespectablewhite-washedmudwall,withacopingofredcrinkledtilestokeepitfromdissolution.Itwouldsuggestagentleman’sgardeniftherewasnotinitsmiddlealargehole,whichgrowslargerwitheveryrain-storm.Throughtheholeisvisible,firstly,theirongatethatisintendedtocloseitsecondly,asquarepieceofgroundwhich,thoughnotquite,mud,isatthesametimenotexactlygrassandfinally,anotherwall,stonethistime,whichhasawoodendoorinthemiddleandtwowooden-shutteredwindowseachside,andapparentlyformsthefacadeofaone-storeyhouse.
Thishouseisbiggerthanitlooks,foritslidesfortwostoreysdownthehillbehind,andthewoodendoor,whichisalwayslocked,reallyleadsintotheattic.Theknowingpersonpreferstofollowtheprecipitousmule-trackroundtheturnofthemudwalltillhecantaketheedificeintherear.Then—beingnowonalevelwiththecellars—heliftsuphisheadandshouts.Ifhisvoicesoundslikesomethinglight—aletter,forexample,orsomevegetables,orabunchofflowers—abasketisletoutofthefirst-floorwindowsbyastring,intowhichheputshisburdensanddeparts.Butifhesoundslikesomethingheavy,suchasalogofwood,orapieceofmeat,oravisitor,heisinterrogated,andthenbiddenorforbiddentoascend.Thegroundfloorandtheupperfloorofthatbatteredhousearealikedeserted,andtheinmateskeepthecentralportion,justasinadyingbodyallliferetirestotheheart.Thereisadooratthetopofthefirstflightofstairs,andifthevisitorisadmittedhewillfindawelcomewhichisnotnecessarilycold.Thereareseveralrooms,somedarkandmostlystuffy—areception-roomadornedwithhorsehairchairs,wool-workstools,andastovethatisneverlit—GermanbadtastewithoutGermandomesticitybroodsoverthatroomalsoaliving-room,whichinsensiblyglidesintoabedroomwhentherefininginfluenceofhospitalityisabsent,andrealbedroomsandlast,butnotleast,theloggia,whereyoucanlivedayandnightifyoufeelinclined,drinkingvermouthandsmokingcigarettes,withleaguesofolive-treesandvineyardsandblue-greenhillstowatchyou.
ItwasinthishousethatthebriefandinevitabletragedyofLilia’smarriedlifetookplace.She