Sinopsis

The man tried his best to sell me the house. He was confident that I would like it. Repeatedly he called my attention to the view. There was something in what he said about the view. The villa on the top of a mountain commanded a vision of the valley, vine-clad and cottagestudded. It was an irregular bowl of green, dotted with stone houses which were whitewashed to almost painful brilliancy. The valley was three and a third miles at its greatest width. Standing at the front door of the house, an expert marksman with telescopic sight could have placed a rifle bullet in each of the white marks of cottages. They nestled like little pearls amid a sea of green grape-vines. "A wonderful view, Signor," the real-estate agent repeated. "That scene, at any time of the year, is worth twice what I am asking for the villa." "But I can see all this without buying," I argued. "Not without tresing." "But the place is old. It has no running water." "Wrong!" and he smiled expansively, showing a row of gold-filled teeth. "Listen." We were silent. There came to us the sound of bubbling water. Turning, I traced the sound. I found a marble Cupid spurting water in a most peculia...