th its little shops over the river. Beyond, towards the sun, glimpses
of green, sky-bloomed country: Tuscany.

There was a noise and clatter of traffic: boys pushing hand-barrows over
the cobble-stones, slow bullocks stepping side by side, and shouldering
one another affectionately, drawing a load of country produce, then
horses in great brilliant scarlet cloths, like vivid palls, slowly
pulling the long narrow carts of the district: and men hu-huing!--and
people calling: all the sharp, clattering morning noise of Florence.

"Oh, Angus! Do come and look! OH, so lovely!"

Glancing up, he saw the elegant figure of Francis, in fine coloured-silk
pyjamas, perched on a small upper balcony, turning away from the river
towards the bedroom again, his hand lifted to his lips, as if to catch
there his cry of delight. The whole pose was classic and effective: and
very amusing. How the Italians would love it!

Aaron slipped back across the road, and walked away under the houses
towards the Ponte Vecchio. He passed the bridge--and passed the
Uffizi--watching the green hills opposite, and San Miniato. Then he
noticed the over-dramatic group of statuary in the Piazza Mentana--male
and physical and melodramatic--and then the corner house. It was a big
old Florentine house, with many green shutters and wide eaves. There was
a notice plate by the door--"Pension Nardini."

He came to a full stop. He stared at the notice-plate, stared at the
glass door, and turning round, stared at the over-pathetic dead soldier
on the arm of his over-heroic pistol-firing comrade; _Mentana_--and
the date! Aaron wondered what and where Mentana was. Then at last
he summoned his energy, opened the glass door, and mounted the first
stairs.

He waited some time before anybody appeared. Then a maid-servant.

"Can I have a room?" said Aaron.

The bewildered, wild-eyed servant maid opened a door and showed him into
a heavily-gilt, heavily-plush drawing-room with a great deal of frantic
grandeur about it. There he sat and cooled his heels for half an hour.
Arrived at length a stout young lady--handsome, with big dark-blue
Italian eyes--but anaemic and too stout.

"Oh!" she said as she entered, not knowing what else to say.

"Good-morning," said Aaron awkwardly.

"Oh, good-morning! English! Yes! Oh, I am so sorry to keep you, you
know, to make you wait so long. I was upstairs, you know, with a lady.
Will you sit?"

"Can I have a room?" said Aaron.

"