the reflecting
windows of the many-terraced hotels, in the orange trees; gold, gold,
beautiful gold napoleons.

And then, into the omnibus adjoining, came the man with the scar.

CHAPTER XIII

KITTY ASKS QUESTIONS

The Riviera, from San Remo on the Italian side to Cannes on the French,
possesses a singular beauty. Cities and villages nestle in bays or crown
frowning promontories; and sheltered from northern winds by mountains
rugged and lofty, the vegetation is tropical and rich. Thousands of
splendid villas (architectural madnesses) string out along the
rock-bound coast; and princes and grand dukes and kings live in some of
these. Often a guide will point out some little palace and dramatically
whisper that this will be the villa of a famous ballerina, or Spanish
dancer, or opera singer, or some duchess whose husband never had any
duchy. And seldom these villas are more than a stone's throw from the
villas of the princes and grand dukes and kings. Nobility and royalty
are fond of jovial company. Aladdin's lamp is not necessary here, where
one may build a villa by the aid of one's toes!

Nature--earthly nature--has nothing to do with the morality of humanity,
if it can not uplift. Yet humanity can alter nature, beautify it after a
conventional manner, or demolish it, still after a conventional manner.
On the Riviera humanity has nature pretty well under hand.

Villefranche stands above Nice, between that white city and Monte Carlo.
It is quiet and lovely. For this reason the great army of tourists pass
it by; there is no casino, no band, no streets full of tantalizing
shops. On the very western limit of Villefranche, on the winding white
road which rises out of Nice, a road so frequently passed over by
automobiles that a haze of dust always hangs over it, is a modest little
villa, so modest that a ballerina would scorn it and a duchess ignore
it. It is, in truth, a _pensione_, where only those who come well
recommended are accepted as guests. It is on the left of the road as you
ride east, and its verandas and window balconies look straight out to
sea, the eternally blue Mediterranean. A fine grove of shade trees
protects it from the full glare of the sun.

[Illustration: In the balcony La Signorina reposed in a steamer chair]

In the balcony La Signorina reposed in a steamer chair, gazing seaward.
The awning cast a warm glow as of gold upon her face and hair, a
transparent shadow. She was at this mome