product--the healing waters. He strayed in the twilight through halls
and corridors, past ample saloons and rows of cells which had
apparently served for convenience of disrobing. Everywhere that noisome
smell accompanied his footsteps; the place was reeking with it. And all
was in decay. Gaudy paper hung in tatters from the ceilings; the dust
lay thick, undisturbed for generations. Unclean things littered in
musty corners. Through gaping skylights a sunny beam would penetrate;
it played about the mildewy stucco partitions encrusted, in patches,
with a poisonous lichen of bright green. Wandering about this dank and
mournful pile of wreckage, he could understand why simple folks should
dread to enter so ghoul-haunted a spot.

Gladly he issued, by way of an obscure passage, into what had once been
a trim garden. No trace of flowers or shrubs remained; the walks, the
ornamental stone seats and artificial terraces, were merging into brown
earth. Here, in the centre of this ruined pleasaunce, the health-giving
fountain had lately flowed, bubbling up in a couch-shaped basin of
cement. It was now dry. But a damp warmth still clung to its rim,
whereon the mineral had left a comely deposit of opaline texture.
Lowering his hand he felt an intermittent stream of hot air rising out
of the ground, feeble as the breath of a dying man. Still some
mysterious gusts of life down there, he concluded, in the dark earth.
How curious that volcanic connection with the mainland, of which Count
Caloveglia had spoken!

Soon he found himself beside the shattered framework of a small
pavilion, built in a grotesque Chinese style and looking woefully out
of place in this classic landscape, with the blue Tyrrhenian at its
foot. And here he rested. He surveyed the traces of the old path
leading down from the higher lands in serpentine meanderings; that