he edge of the wall to look at it.
While we were there one of the Capuchins, clad in his long brown gown,
came out, crossed the plaza, gazed at us slowly, and then with equal
slowness stooped and kissed the base of the cross, and returned, giving
us another long gaze as he passed.

[Illustration: THE MONASTERY OF L'ANNUNZIATA]

"Was that piety or curiosity?" I said.

"I think it was Miss Trescott," said Baker.

Now as Miss Elaine was present, this was a little cruel; but I learned
afterwards that Baker had been rendered violent that day by hearing that
his American politeness regarding Miss Elaine's self-bestowed society
had been construed by that young lady into a hidden attachment to
herself--an attachment which she "deeply regretted," but could not
"prevent." She had confided this to several persons, who kept the secret
in that strict way in which such secrets are usually kept. Indeed, with
all the strictness, it was quite remarkable that Baker heard it. But not
remarkable that he writhed under it. However, his remarks and manners
made no difference to Miss Elaine; she attributed them to despair.

While we were sitting on the wall the Professor came toiling up the
hill; but he had not found the asphodel. However, when Janet had given
him a few of her pretty phrases he revived, and told us that the plaza
was the site of an ancient village called Podium-Pinum, and that the
Lascaris once had a chateau there.

"The same Lascaris who lived in the old castle at Mentone?" said Janet.

"The same."

"These old monks have plenty of wine, I suppose," said Inness, looking
at the vine terraces which covered the sunny hill-side.

"Very good wine was formerly made around Mentone," said the Professor;
"but the vines were destroyed by a disease, and the peasants thought it
the act of Providence, and for some time gave up the culture. But lately
they have replanted them, and wine is now again produced which, I am
told, is quite palatable."

"That is but a cold phrase to apply to the _bon petit vin blanc_ of
Sant' Agnese, for instance," said Verney, smiling.

Soon we started homeward. While we were winding down the narrow path, we
met a Capuchin coming up, with his bag on his back; he was an old man
with bent shoulders and a meek, dull face, to whom the task of patient
daily begging would not be more of a burden than any other labor. But
when we reached the narrow main street, and found a momentary block,
another Capuchin