I had nothing more to do at Milan, but the count had made me promise to spend a fortnight at St. Angelo.  This was an estate belonging to him, fifteen miles from Milan, and the count spoke most enthusiastically of it.  If I had gone away without seeing St. Angelo, he would have been exceedingly mortified.  A married brother of his lived there, and the count often said that his brother was longing to know me.  When we returned he would no doubt let me depart in peace.

I had made up my mind to shew my gratitude to the worthy man for his hospitality, so on the fourth day of Lent I took leave of Therese, Greppi, and the affectionate marchioness, for two weeks, and we set out on our way.

To my great delight the countess did not care to come.  She much preferred staying in Milan with Triulzi, who did not let her lack for anything.

We got to St. Angelo at three o’clock, and found that we were expected to dinner.

CHAPTER XXI

An Ancient Castle—­Clementine—­The Fair Penitent—­Lodi—­A Mutual Passion

The manorial castle of the little town of St. Angelo is a vast and ancient building, dating back at least eight centuries, but devoid of regularity, and not indicating the date of its erection by the style of its architecture.  The ground floor consists of innumerable small rooms, a few large and lofty apartments, and an immense hall.  The walls, which are full of chinks and crannies, are of that immense thickness which proves that our ancestors built for their remote descendants, and not in our modern fashion; for we are beginning to build in the English style, that is, barely for one generation.  The stone stairs had been trodden by so many feet that one had to be very careful in going up or down.  The floor was all of bricks, and as it had been renewed at various epochs with bricks of divers colours it formed a kind of mosaic, not very pleasant to look upon.  The windows were of a piece with the rest; they had no glass in them, and the sashes having in many instances given way they were always open; shutters were utterly unknown there.  Happily the want of glass was not much felt in the genial climate of the country.  The ceilings were conspicuous by their absence, but there were heavy beams, the haunts of bats, owls, and other birds, and light ornament was supplied by the numerous spiders’ webs.

In this great Gothic palace—­for palace it was rather than castle, for it had no towers or other attributes of feudalism, except the enormous coat-of-arms which crowned the gateway—­in this palace, I say, the memorial of the ancient glories of the Counts A——­ B——­, which they loved better than the finest modern house, there were three sets of rooms better kept than the rest.  Here dwelt the masters, of whom there were three; the Count A——­ B——­, my friend, Count Ambrose, who always lived there, and a third, an officer in the Spanish Walloon Guards.  I occupied the apartment of the last named.  But I must describe the welcome I received.