elt not inclined to think of the life before me, nor of love-speeches
or weddings, with the shadow of death across my path. I refused
peremptorily, even curtly; told my aunt I was going away,--most likely
to Corfu, then would come back to Rome in order to arrange my father's
affairs, and after that would come to Ploszow.

She did not insist upon having her own way. Feeling deeply for me, she
was even more gentle than usual, and left Rome three days after the
funeral. I did not go to Corfu; instead of that, Mr. and Mrs. Davis
carried me off to their villa at Peli, where I have been now for
several days. Whether Mrs. Davis is sincere or not I do not know, and
will not even enter upon that now; I know only that no sister could
have shown more sympathy and solicitude. With a nature poisoned by
scepticism, I am always prone to suspect and misjudge those around me;
but if it should be proved that I misjudged this woman, I should feel
truly guilty,--because her goodness to me is quite extraordinary.

26 March.

My windows look out upon the vast blueness of the Mediterranean,
encompassed by bands of a darker blue on the far horizon. Close to the
villa, the crisped waves glitter like fiery scales; in the distance,
the sea is glassy and still, as if lulled to sleep in its blue veil.
White lateen sails flash in the sun, and once a day a steamer from
Marseilles for Genoa passes hence, dragging in her wake woolly coils
of smoke that hang over the sea like a dark cloud, until it
gradually dissolves and disappears. The restfulness of the place is
indescribable. Thoughts dissolve like yonder black cloud between the
blue sky and azure sea, and life is a blissful vegetation.

I felt very tired yesterday, but to-day I inhale with eager lungs the
fresh sea-breezes, that leave a salty taste on my lips. Say what they
like, the Riviera is one of the gems of God's creation. I fancy to
myself how the wind whistles at Ploszow; the sudden changes from mild
spring weather to wintry blasts; the darkness, sleet, and hail, with
intermittent gleams of sunshine. Here the sky is transparent and
serene; the soft breeze which even now caresses my face comes through
the open window together with the scent of heliotropes, roses, and
mignonette. It is the enchanted land, where the orange blossoms, and
also an enchanted palace; because everything that millions can buy,
combined with the exquisite taste of Mrs. Davis, is to be found in
this villa. I am s