NICE
November 17th.—We started with the first train for Nice, where we stopped
at the Hôtel Julien, hidden among lemon trees. Directly after lunch I
went out for a walk. Whilst I stood gazing into a jewellery-shop, an old
gentleman came up, and touching my arm, began to whisper compliments into
my ear. I cast an indignant glance at the old satyr and hastened back to
the hotel, walking very fast, and it was by an effort that my pursuer
kept me in sight, for my legs were long and his were not.
Before dinner we sat on the boulevard at a small table. We ordered
coffee, and listened to exciting Hungarian _czardas_ that Tziganes were
playing at a neighbouring restaurant on our left. On our right a troup of
Neapolitan singers sang national songs in chorus.
The whole night I shivered with cold in my bed under two quilts scented
with lavender. Notwithstanding the chilly atmosphere, persecuting
mosquitoes strove to cover us with their stings.
November 18th.—We came back to Marseilles to-day. I was half out of the
window of our car, watching for Sergy who was waiting for us on the
platform, his face beaming with pleasure. We had some dinner at the
station and took the train for Paris.