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able to investigate； and we had never failed to acquit him
conscientiously of shabby behavior。 I judged him perhaps
more indulgently than my friend； certainly； at any rate；
it appeared to me that no man could have walked straighter
in the given circumstances。 These were almost always awkward。
Half the women of his time； to speak liberally； had flung
themselves at his head； and out of this pernicious fashion
many complications； some of them grave； had not failed to arise。
He was not a woman's poet； as I had said to Mrs。 Prest；
in the modern phase of his reputation； but the situation had been
different when the man's own voice was mingled with his song。
That voice； by every testimony； was one of the sweetest ever heard。
〃Orpheus and the Maenads！〃 was the exclamation that rose to my
lips when I first turned over his correspondence。 Almost all
the Maenads were unreasonable； and many of them insupportable；
it struck me in short that he was kinder； more considerate than；
in his place （if I could imagine myself in such a place！）
I should have been。
It was certainly strange beyond all strangeness； and I shall not
take up space with attempting to explain it； that whereas in all
these other lines of research we had to deal with phantoms and dust；
the mere echoes of echoes； the one living source of information
that had lingered on into our time had been unheeded by us。
Every one of Aspern's contemporaries had； according to
our belief； passed away； we had not been able to look into
a single pair of eyes into which his had looked or to feel
a transmitted contact in any aged hand that his had touched。
Most dead of all did poor Miss Bordereau appear； and yet she
alone had survived。 We exhausted in the course of months
our wonder that we had not found her out sooner； and the
substance of our explanation was that she had kept so quiet。
The poor lady on the whole had had reason for doing so。
But it was a revelation to us that it was possible to keep
so quiet as that in the latter half of the nineteenth century
the age of newspapers and telegrams and photographs and interviewers。
And she had taken no great trouble about it either：
she had not hidden herself away in an undiscoverable hole；
she had boldly settled down in a city of exhibition。
The only secret of her safety that we could perceive was that
Venice contained so many curiosities that were greater than she。
And then accident had somehow favored her； as was shown
for example in the fact that Mrs。 Prest had never happened
to mention her to me； though I had spent three weeks
in Veniceunder her nose； as it werefive years before。
Mrs。 Prest had not mentioned this much to anyone；
she appeared almost to have forgotten she was there。
Of course she had not the responsibilities of an editor。
It was no explanation of the old woman's having eluded us to say
that she lived abroad； for our researches had again and again
taken us （not only by correspondence but by personal inquiry）
to France； to Germany； to Italy； in which countries； not counting
his important stay in England； so many of the too few years
of Aspern's career were spent。 We were glad to think at least
that in all our publishings （some people consider I believe
that we have overdone them）； we had only touched in passing
and in the most discreet manner on Miss Bordereau's connection。
Oddly enough； even if we had had the material （and we often
wondered what had become of it）； it would have been the most
difficult episode to handle。
The gondola stopped； the old palace was there； it was a house of the class
which in Venice carries even in extreme dilapidation the dignified name。
〃How charming！ It's gray and pink！〃 my companion exclaimed；
and that is the most comprehensive description of it。
It was not particularly old； only two or three centuries；
and it had an air not so much of decay as of quiet discouragement；
as if it had rather missed its career。 But its wide front；
with a stone balcony from end to end of the piano nobile or most
important floor； was architectural enough； with the aid of various
pilasters and arches； and the stucco with which in the intervals
it had long ago been endued was rosy in the April afternoon。
It overlooked a clean； melancholy； unfrequented canal；
which had a narrow riva or convenient footway on either side。
〃I don't know whythere are no brick gables；〃 said Mrs。 Prest；
〃but this corner has seemed to me before more Dutch than Italian；
more like Amsterdam than like Venice。 It's perversely clean；
for reasons of its own； and though you can pass on foot scarcely anyone
ever thinks of doing so。 It has the air of a Protestant Sunday。
Perhaps the people are afraid of the Misses Bordereau。
I daresay they have the reputation of witches。〃
I forget what answer I made to thisI was given up to two
other reflections。 The first of these was that if the old lady
lived in such a big； imposing house she could not be in any
sort of misery and therefore would not be tempted by a chance
to let a couple of rooms。 I expressed this idea to Mrs。 Prest；
who gave me a very logical reply。 〃If she didn't live in a big
house how could it be a question of her having rooms to spare？
If she were not amply lodged herself you would lack ground
to approach her。 Besides； a big house here； and especially
in this quartier perdu； proves nothing at all：
it is perfectly compatible with a state of penury。
Dilapidated old palazzi； if you will go out of the way for them；
are to be had for five shillings a year。 And as for the people
who live in themno； until you have explored Venice socially as much
as I have you can form no idea of their domestic desolation。
They live on nothing； for they have nothing to live on。〃
The other idea that had come into my head was connected
with a high blank wall which appeared to confine an expanse
of ground on one side of the house。 Blank I call it；
but it was figured over with the patches that please a painter；
repaired breaches； crumblings of plaster； extrusions of brick
that had turned pink with time； and a few thin trees； with the poles
of certain rickety trellises； were visible over the top。
The place was a garden； and apparently it belonged to the house。
It suddenly occurred to me that if it did belong to the house
I had my pretext。
I sat looking out on all this with Mrs。 Prest （it was covered with the golden
glow of Venice） from the shade of our felze； and she asked me if I
would go in then； while she waited for me； or come back another time。
At first I could not decideit was doubtless very weak of me。
I wanted still to think I MIGHT get a footing； and I was afraid
to meet failure； for it would leave me； as I remarked to my companion；
without another arrow for my bow。 〃Why not another？〃 she inquired
as I sat there hesitating and thinking it over； and she wished to know
why even now and before taking the trouble of becoming an inmate
（which might be wretc