An old family banner, tattered by the moths, drooped from the vaulted roof.

In niches there were some mediaeval busts of Donatello's forgotten ancestry; and among them, it might be, the forlorn visage of that hapless knight between whom and the fountain-nymph had occurred such tender love passages.
Throughout all the jovial prosperity of Monte Beni, this one spot within the domestic walls had kept itself silent, stern, and sad.

When the individual or the family retired from song and mirth, they here sought those realities which men do not invite their festive associates to share.

And here, on the occasion above referred to, the sculptor had discovered--accidentally, so far as he was concerned, though with a purpose on her part--that there was a guest under Donatello's roof, whose presence the Count did not suspect.

An interview had since taken place, and he was now summoned to another.
He crossed the chapel, in compliance with Tomaso's instructions, and, passing through the side entrance, found himself in a saloon, of no great size, but more magnificent than he had supposed the villa to contain.