and ran into the garden through the half-open door. The crude brilliance of the moon wrapt every object in light. Fabio looked about him, and perceived on the sand of the path prints of two pairs of feet — one pair were bare; and these prints led to a bower of jasmine, on one side, between the pavilion and the house. He stood still in perplexity, and suddenly once more he heard the strains of the song he had listened to the night before. Fabio shuddered, ran into the pavilion . . . Muzzio was standing

in the middle of the room playing on the violin. Fabio rushed up to him.

'You have been in the garden, your clothes are wet with rain.'

'No . . . I don't know . . . I think . . . I have not been out . . .' Muzzio answered slowly, seeming amazed at Fabio's entrance and his excitement.

Fabio seized him by the hand. 'And why are you playing that melody again? Have you had a dream again?'

Muzzio glanced at Fabio with the same look of amazement, and said nothing.

'Answer me!'