e in pursuit of him,
and that on landing he might be seized by the Italian police like a
common thief. But the yacht was swinging peacefully at anchor, her
sailors cleaning the deck or repainting the red siren of her figurehead,
as if they were expecting someone of importance. Paul had not the
curiosity to ask who this personage was. He crossed the marble city, and
returned by the coast railway from Genoa to Marseilles--that marvellous
route where one passes suddenly from the blackness of the tunnels to the
dazzling light of the blue sea.

At Savona the train stopped, and the passengers were told that they
could go no farther, as one of the little bridges over the torrents
which rush from the mountains to the sea had been broken during the
night. They must wait for the engineer and the break-down gang, already
summoned by telegraph; wait perhaps a half day. It was early morning.
The Italian town was waking in one of those veiled dawns which forecast
great heat for the day. While the dispersed travellers took refuge in
the hotels, installed themselves in the _cafes_, and others visited the
town, de Gery, chafing at the delay, tried to think of some means of
saving these few hours. He thought of poor Jansoulet, to whom the money
he was bringing might save honour and life, of his dear Aline, her whose
remembrance had not quitted him a single day of his journey, no more
than the portrait which she had given him. Then he was inspired to hire
one of those four-horse _calesinos_ which run from Genoa to Nice, along
the Italian Corniche--an adorable trip which foreigners, lovers, and
winners at Monaco often enjoy. The driver guaranteed that he would be
at Nice early; and even if he arrived no earlier than the train, his
impatient spirit felt the comfort of movement, of feeling at each turn
of the wheel the distance from his desire decrease.

On a fine morning in June, when one is young and in love, it is a
delicious intoxication to tear behind four horses over the white
Corniche road. To the left, a hundred feet below, the sea sparkling with
foam, from the rounded rocks of the shore to those vapoury distances
where the blue of the waves and of the heavens mingle; red or white
sails are scattered over it like wings, steamers leaving behind them
their trail of smoke; and on the sands, fishermen no larger than birds,
in their anchored boats like nests. Then the road descends, follows a
rapid declivity along the rocks and sharp pro