despair. But I doubt it. And in any case Allègre was not the sort
of person that gets into any vulgar trouble. And it's just possible that those
people stood open-mouthed at all that magnificence. They weren't poor, you know;
therefore it wasn't incumbent on them to be honest. They are still there in the
old respectable warehouse, I understand. They have kept their position in their
quartier, I believe. But they didn't keep their niece. It might have been an act
of sacrifice! For I seem to remember hearing that after attending for a while
some school round the corner the child had been set to keep the books of that
orange business. However it might have been, the first fact in Rita's and
Allègre's common history is a journey to Italy, and then to Corsica. You know
Allègre had a house in Corsica somewhere. She has it now as she has everything
he ever had; and that Corsican palace is the portion that will stick the longest
to Doña Rita, I imagine. Who would want to buy a place like that? I suppose
nobody would take it for a gift. The fellow was having houses built all over the
place. This very house where we are sitting belonged to him. Doña Rita has given
it to her sister, I understand. Or at any rate the sister runs it. She is my
landlady ...«
    »Her sister here!« I exclaimed. »Her sister!«
    Blunt turned to me politely, but only for a long mute gaze. His eyes were in
deep shadow and it struck me for the first time then that there was something
fatal in that man's aspect as soon as he fell silent. I think the effect was
purely physical, but in consequence whatever he said seemed inadequate and as if
produced by a commonplace, if uneasy, soul.
    »Doña Rita brought her down from her mountains on purpose. She is asleep
somewhere in this house, in one of the vacant rooms. She lets them, you know, at
extortionate prices, that is, if people will pay them, for she is easily
intimidated. You see, she has never seen such an enormous town before in her
life, nor yet so many strange people. She has been keeping house for the
uncle-priest in some mountain gorge for years and years. It's extraordinary he
should have let her go. There is something mysterious there, some reason or
other. It's either theology or Family. The saintly uncle in his