is without seeing a procession of donkeys coming
up-stairs on their way to their high apartments," I said, laughing.

"The _procession_ might have been the same in the days of the Lascaris,"
suggested Baker.

Roccabruna--brown rock--is an appropriate name for the village, which is
so brown and so mixed with and built into the cliff to which it clings
that it is difficult to tell where man's work ends and that of nature
begins.

"The town was the companion of Mentone in its rebellion against the
Princes of Monaco," said the Professor. "Mentone and Roccabruna freed
themselves, but Monaco remained enslaved."

"They are all now in France," said Baker.

"Sir!" replied the Professor, with heat, "it is in a much worse place
than France that wretched Monaco now finds herself!"

We went homeward down the mountain-side, passing the little chapel of
the Madonna della Pausa--a pause being indeed necessary when one is
ascending. Here, where the view was finest, there was another way-side
cross. Farther on, as we entered the old olive wood below, Margaret
dismounted; she always liked to walk through the silver-gray shade; and
Lloyd seemed to have adopted an equal fondness for the same tint.

That evening, when we were alone, Margaret explained the secret of
Inness's remarkable and unflagging gayety. It seemed that Miss Elaine
had, during the day before, confided to Verney--as a fellow-countryman,
I suppose--her self-reproach concerning "that poor young American
gentleman, Mr. Inness." What _should_ she do? Would he advise her? She
must go to some one, and she did not feel like troubling her dear mamma.
It was true that Mr. Inness had been with her a good deal, had helped
her wind her worsteds in the evening, but she never meant
anything--never dreamed of anything. And now, she could not but
feel--there was something in his manner that forced her to see--In
short, had not Mr. Verney noticed it?

Now I have no doubt but that Verney told her he had "seen" and had
"noticed" everything she desired. But in the meanwhile he could not
resist confiding the story to Baker, who having been already a victim,
was overcome with glee, and in his turn hastened to repeat the tale to
Inness.

Inness raged, but hardly knew what to do. He finally decided to become a
perfect Catharine-wheel of gayety, shooting off laughter and jokes in
all directions to convince the world that he remained heart-whole.

"But it will be of no avail," I said to