I had taken Mrs. Prest into my confidence; in truth without her I should have made butlittle advance, for the fruitful idea in the whole business dropped from her friendly lips. Itwas she who invented the short cut, who severed the Gordian knot. It is not supposed to bethe nature of women to rise as a general thing to the largest and most liberal view-I meanof a practical scheme; but it has struck me that they sometimes throw off a boldconception-such as a man would not have risen to-with singular serenity. "Simply askthem to take you in on the footing of a lodger"-I don't think that unaided I should haverisen to that. I was beating about the bush, trying to be ingenious, wondering by whatcombination of arts I might become an acquaintance, when she offered this happysuggestion that the way to become an acquaintance was first to become an inmate. Heractual knowledge of the Misses Bordereau was scarcely larger than mine, and indeed I hadbrought with me from England some definite facts which were new to her. Their name hadbeen mixed up ages before with one of the greatest names of the century, and they livednow in Venice in obscurity, on very small means, unvisited, unapproachable, in adilapidated old palace on an out-of-the-way canal: this was the substance of my friend'simpression of them. She herself had been established in Venice for fifteen years and haddone a great deal of good there; but the circle of her benevolence did not include the twoshy, mysterious and, as it was somehow supposed, scarcely respectable Americans (theywere believed to have lost in their long exile all national quality, besides having had, astheir name implied, some French strain in their origin), who asked no favors and desiredno attention. In the early years of her residence she had made an attempt to see them, butthis had been successful only as regards the little one, as Mrs. Prest called the niece; thoughin reality as I afterward learned she was considerably the bigger of the two. She had heardMiss Bordereau was ill and had a suspicion that she was in want; and she had gone to thehouse to offer assistance, so that if there were suffering (and American suffering), sheshould at least not have it on her conscience. The "little one" received her in the great cold, tarnished Venetian sala, the central hall of the house, paved with marble and roofed withdim crossbeams, and did not even ask her to sit down. This was not encouraging for me, who wished to sit so fast, and I remarked as much to Mrs. Prest. She however replied withprofundity, "Ah, but there's all the difference: I went to confer a favor and you will go to askone. If they are proud you will be on the right side." And she offered to show me their houseto begin with-to row me thither in her gondola. I let her know that I had already been tolook at it half a dozen times; but I accepted her invitation, for it charmed me to hover aboutthe place. I had made my way to it the day after my arrival in Venice (it had been describedto me in advance by the friend in England to whom I owed definite information as to theirpossession of the papers), and I had besieged it with my eyes while I considered my plan ofcampaign. Jeffrey Aspern had never been in it that I knew of; but some note of his voiceseemed to abide there by a roundabout implication, a faint reverberation.