t in front of me in such a way that his large back touched me
and I had to hold my nose. I am not in the habit of talking while
travelling, so that conversation between us was restricted to the
exchange of a few phrases. But as we were crossing the Pontine
marshes, I noticed on the edge of a canal a shepherd whose flock was
passing into a meadow all studded with flowers, and beyond which the
sea and Cape Circe were visible. "What a charming picture!" said I to
my travelling companion. "This shepherd, these sheep, the meadow, the
sea!" "Those sheep are all filthy," he answered; "you ought to see
them in England." Farther along on the Terracina road, at the place
where you cross a small river in a boat, I saw at my left the line of
the Apennines crowned with magnificent clouds, which the setting sun
illumined. I was unable to refrain from expressing my admiration
aloud. "Those clouds mean that we shall have rain to-morrow," said my
optimistic friend.

We reached Naples at about three or four o'clock. I cannot describe
the impression I received upon entering the town. That burning sun,
that stretch of sea, those islands seen in the distance, that Vesuvius
with a great column of smoke ascending from it, and the very
population so animated and so noisy, who differ so much from the Roman
that one might suppose they were a thousand miles apart.

I had engaged a house at Chiaja on the edge of the sea. Opposite me I
had the island of Capri, and this situation delighted me. Hardly had I
arrived when Count Skavronska, the Russian Ambassador at Naples, whose
house was next to mine, sent one of his runners to find out how I was,
and at the same time had a very choice dinner brought me. I was the
more grateful for this kind attention, as I must have died of hunger
before there would have been time to get my kitchen ready. The same
evening I went to thank the Count, and thus became acquainted with his
charming wife.

[Illustration: MARIE CAROLINE, WIFE OF FERDINAND IV. OF NAPLES.]

Count Skavronska had features that were noble and regular; he was very
pale. This pallor came from the extreme delicacy of his health, which,
however, did not prevent him from being highly sociable nor from
chatting both gracefully and cleverly. The Countess was as sweet and
pretty as an angel. The famous Potemkin, her uncle, had loaded her
with wealth, for which she had no use. Her great delight was to live
stretched out on a lounge wrapped in a large