The rising moon streamed through on the desolation of the damp-stained walls and floors.

And a fresh upland wind was beginning to blow and whistle through the empty and windowless cells.
Even Lucy shivered a little.

It was perhaps not wonderful that the French maid should be in revolt.
Then she went softly down an old stone staircase to the lower floor.

Here was the same long passage with rooms on either side, but in even worse condition.

At the far end was a glow of light and a hum of voices, coming from the corner of the building occupied by the _contadino_, and their own kitchen.