"Who," her eyes seemed to ask me, "was this horseman that rode so late ?" My hound rose from the hearth with a growl, and stood bristling, his eyes upon the door.

White-haired old Silvio, the last remaining retainer of the House of Biancomonte, came forth from the kitchen, with inquiry and fear blending on his wrinkled, weather-beaten countenance.
And I, seeing all these signs of alarm, yet knowing what awaited me on the threshold, rose with a laugh, and in a bound had crossed the intervening space.

I flung wide the door, and from the gloom without a man's voice greeted me with a question.
"Is this the house of Messer Lazzaro Biancomonte ?" "I am that Lazzaro Biancomonte," answered I."What may your pleasure be ?" The stranger advanced until he came within the light.

He was plainly dressed, and wore a jerkin of leather and long boots.

From his air I judged him a servant or a courier.