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.