Introduced to Number Fourteen, the doctor looked round him with a certain appearance of interest which was noticed by everyone present.  ’The last time I was in this room,’ he said, ’was on a melancholy occasion.  It was before the palace was changed into an hotel.  I was in professional attendance on an English nobleman who died here.’  One of the persons present inquired the name of the nobleman.  Doctor Bruno answered (without the slightest suspicion that he was speaking before a brother of the dead man), ‘Lord Montbarry.’

Henry quietly left the room, without saying a word to anybody.

He was not, in any sense of the term, a superstitious man.  But he felt, nevertheless, an insurmountable reluctance to remaining in the hotel.  He decided on leaving Venice.  To ask for another room would be, as he could plainly see, an offence in the eyes of the manager.  To remove to another hotel, would be to openly abandon an establishment in the success of which he had a pecuniary interest.  Leaving a note for Arthur Barville, on his arrival in Venice, in which he merely mentioned that he had gone to look at the Italian lakes, and that a line addressed to his hotel at Milan would bring him back again, he took the afternoon train to Padua—­ and dined with his usual appetite, and slept as well as ever that night.

The next day, a gentleman and his wife (perfect strangers to the Montbarry family), returning to England by way of Venice, arrived at the hotel and occupied Number Fourteen.

Still mindful of the slur that had been cast on one of his best bedchambers, the manager took occasion to ask the travellers the next morning how they liked their room.  They left him to judge for himself how well they were satisfied, by remaining a day longer in Venice than they had originally planned to do, solely for the purpose of enjoying the excellent accommodation offered to them by the new hotel.  ‘We have met with nothing like it in Italy,’ they said; ‘you may rely on our recommending you to all our friends.’

On the day when Number Fourteen was again vacant, an English lady travelling alone with her maid arrived at the hotel, saw the room, and at once engaged it.

The lady was Mrs. Norbury.  She had left Francis Westwick at Milan, occupied in negotiating for the appearance at his theatre of the new dancer at the Scala.  Not having heard to the contrary, Mrs. Norbury supposed that Arthur Barville and his wife had already arrived at Venice.  She was more interested in meeting the young married couple than in awaiting the result of the hard bargaining which delayed the engagement of the new dancer; and she volunteered to make her brother’s apologies, if his theatrical business caused him to be late in keeping his appointment at the honeymoon festival.

Mrs. Norbury’s experience of Number Fourteen differed entirely from her brother Henry’s experience of the room.