It had been raining at intervals during the day, but held up for a good hour just at dusk, as if on purpose for the _moccoli_.

Scarcely, however, had the guns of St.
Angelo thundered an end to the frolic, when the rain came down again in torrents, and put out the last tapers that yet lingered along the Corso.
Wet, weary, and splashed from head to foot with mud and tallow, I came home about seven o'clock, having to dine and dress before going to a masked-ball in the evening.

To light my stove, change my wet clothes, and make the best of a half-cold _trattore_ dinner, were my first proceedings; after which, I laid out my costume ready to put on, wrapped myself in a huge cloak, swallowed a tumbler full of hot cognac and water, and lay down in front of the fire, determined to have a sound nap and a thorough warming, before venturing out again that night.

I fell asleep, of course, and never woke till roused by a tremendous peal upon the studio-bell, about two hours and a half afterwards.

More dead than alive, I started to my feet.