The next moment we pulled up, our bruised bodies colliding vigorously for the last time; it was the _Albergo Concordia_.
A dark stone staircase, yawning under the colonnade; on the first landing an open doorway; within, a long corridor, doors of bedrooms on either side, and in a room at the far end a glimpse of a tablecloth.
This was the hotel, the whole of it.

As soon as I grasped the situation, it was clear to me why my fellow travellers had entered with a rush and flung themselves into rooms; there might, perchance, be only one or two chambers vacant, and I knew already that Cotrone offered no other decent harbourage.

Happily I did not suffer for my lack of experience; after trying one or two doors in vain, I found a sleeping-place which seemed to be unoccupied, and straightway took possession of it.

No one appeared to receive the arriving guests.
Feeling very hungry, I went into the room at the end of the passage, where I had seen a tablecloth; a wretched lamp burned on the wall, but only after knocking, stamping, and calling did I attract attention; then issued from some mysterious region a stout, slatternly, sleepy woman, who seemed surprised at my demand for food, but at length complied with it.

I was to have better acquaintance with my hostess of the _Concordia_ before I quitted Cotrone.
Next morning the wind still blew, but the rain was over; I could begin my rambles.