erable. Then, a waving
sea of palms, with here and there the glow of a scarlet roof, and beyond
the sea. The rising sun shone on it and on the curved line of coast,
with Monte Carlo and Mentone gleaming like pearl. Floating up on the
horizon I saw a shadowy blue shape of an island, hovering like a ghost,
and as I looked it vanished suddenly as a broken bubble, leaving the sea
blank. I thought it must have been a mirage; but by-and-by a
soft-speaking, fawn-eyed maid called Apollonia told me it was Corsica,
which only shows itself sometimes early in the morning when the sun is
at a certain height and usually after a storm.

We breakfasted in our sitting-room, with delicious honey for our crisp
rolls, and afterwards, when I went downstairs to send your cable, I
found the hall smelling like a forest of balsam firs. It was decorated
for Christmas, and the whole hotel seemed full of a sort of joyous,
Christmas stir, so that it was more like a jolly, big country-house than
a hotel.

Then I found out that this hotel is famous for its Christmas
celebration. Everyone stopping there was supposed to be the landlord's
guest at a wonderful dinner, a regular feast, with dozens of courses,
ending up with crackers, which we all pulled. Last of all the
dining-room was darkened, and a long procession of waiters glided in
bearing illuminated ices--green, crimson, gold, and rose. We clapped our
hands and laughed, just like children, and the landlord had to make a
little speech. Altogether everything was so friendly and Christmasy that
the most gloomy misanthrope could not have felt homesick. I supposed
when dinner was over that the special festivities were at an end. But
no, quite the contrary. Everyone trooped into a huge picture-panelled
recreation-room, which had been the scene of secret preparation all day,
and there was a giant Christmas-tree, sparkling with pretty decorations,
and heavy with presents for each person in the hotel, all provided by
the landlord. We drew them with numbers, and I got a charming inlaid
box with a secret opening; Aunt Mary had a little silver vase. There was
music, too; harps and violins. I _was_ sorry that poor Brown was cut off
from all the fun. But I did give him a present. You know he refuses
tips, so I couldn't offer him money; but the other day at Cannes he was
looking rather worried, and it turned out that something--I didn't
understand exactly what, for he was rather vague in his answers--had
happe