my own aims and pleasures in Paris, not giving a thought to the old man by the lake, who would fain have had me live all my life where I could look upon Mont Blanc; and very likely I shall go and live there ere I die. When you are mountain-born you use cities, you do not love them.'
'Is Paris a city?' she asked.
'The city of cities.'
'Where is it? Is it far from here?'
'Will you come with me and see it?'
He spoke half in jest, half in earnest. She took the question literally, without its seeming strange to her.
'I would never go where roofs lie close together,' she said; 'how can the people bear it? always breathing others breath instead of the honey-smell of the flowers.'
'It is a false taste; like choosing wine rather than water. So you are wedded to your Maremmano moors?'
'I love Maremma,' she answered him, slowly; for she had never been called on to analyse and express what she felt. Then she added:
'Where is that other gone who was with you?'
'He is gone back to Genoa, to go to
