The attention of the old gentleman had been powerfully arrested by the commencement of the Italian’s narrative; and he listened very calmly till the narrator arrived at the point when he was about to mention the name of the old woman who lived opposite to the palace in question:  then was Mr. Martindale again excited, and without waiting for the conclusion of the sentence, interrupted it by exclaiming:  “Ah! what! do you know that old woman?  Is she living?  Where is she?—­Stop—­no—­let me see—­impossible!—­Why I must be nearly seventy—­yes—­are you sure?  Is not her name Bianchi?”

To this hurried and confused mass of interrogation, the colonel replied that her name was Bianchi; but that she had died nearly twenty years ago, at a very advanced age, being at the time of her death nearly ninety years of age.  Hearing this, the old gentleman assumed a great calmness and composure of manner, though he trembled as if in an ague; and turning to the astonished clergyman, who was pleasing himself with the anticipation of some catastrophe or anecdote which might form a fine subject for town-talk, he very deliberately said:—­“Mr. Denver, I beg I may not intrude any longer on your valuable time.  This gentleman, I find, can give me some account of an old acquaintance of mine.  The inquiries may not be interesting to you.  Make my best compliments to Mrs. Denver.”

When this good man was withdrawn, Mr. Martindale requested the stranger to be seated; and unmindful of the guests whom he had left to amuse themselves and each other, he commenced very deliberately to examine the foreigner concerning those matters which had so strongly excited his feelings.

“You tell me,” said Mr. Martindale, “that the old woman, Bianchi, has been dead nearly twenty years.  Now, my good friend, can you inform me how long you were acquainted with this old woman before her death.”  “I knew her,” replied the colonel, “only for about four years before she died.”  “And had you much intimacy with her, so as to hear her talk about former days.”  “Very often indeed,” replied the foreigner, “did she talk about the past; for as her age was very great, and her memory was very good, it was great interest to hear her tell of ancient things; and she was a woman of most excellent understanding, and very benevolent in her disposition.  Indeed, I can say that I loved the old woman much, very much indeed.  I was sorry at her death.”  “But tell me,” said Mr. Martindale, impatiently, “did you ever hear her say any thing of an infant—­an orphan that was committed to her care nearly forty years ago?” At this question, the eyes of the stranger brightened, and his face was overspread with a smile of delight, when he replied:  “Oh yes, much indeed, much indeed! that orphan is my wife,”