As we proceeded I heard the sound of a rich alto voice singing very sweetly to a mandoline some soothing or religious melody.

The servant pulled aside a heavy curtain and I found myself in my brother's room.

An Italian youth sat on a stool near the door, and it was he who had been singing.

At a few words from John, addressed to him in his own language, he set down his mandoline and left the room, pulling to the curtain and shutting a door behind it.
The room looked directly on to the sea: the villa was, in fact, built upon rocks at the foot of which the waves lapped.

Through two folding windows which opened on to a balcony the early light of the summer morning streamed in with a rosy flush.