"But up there, every room is full," Riccardo said, looking up to the ceiling.

"When you said your home, does that mean you live here?"

"Actually, I do, but I meant more. This building used to belong to my family. I was born here, but when I was six my father lost money on bad speculations and had to sell the house. That was when it became a hotel. Ever since, I've dreamed about reclaiming it, and in the end I managed to raise the money. Now I have to keep it."

"Will that be very hard?" she asked.

"Yes, but it's all I want to do."

"So that's why you double as your own dogsbody? I suppose you live in an attic, too?"

His eyes gleamed. "I live under the stars."

It soon became apparent that Riccardo meant exactly what he said. His home was a tiny apartment at the top of the building, but on top of it he had built a square balcony.

Brick pillars went up through the roof, supporting a wooden platform surrounded by a trellis fence on which roses flowered.

"Here we are up among the stars," he said, "and all around us, Venice is sleeping."

Down below she could just make out the sloping roofs, the little streets, called calles, where faint lights still glowed. Straight ahead was the softly lit bell tower of St. Mark's, the only other thing that rose this high. Beyond it, in the far distance, the faint glimpse of water glittering under the moon.

"Wait here," he said, and disappeared back down through the trapdoor that led down to his apartment.

Left alone, Justine looked about her at the dark blue night, with its faint lights winking like jewels against velvet, and marveled at so much beauty. In the distance she could hear the echoing cries of gondoliers going home, calling warnings to each other as they approached corners. It was an unearthly sound, like the music of the spheres. After a moment Riccardo returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.