and he and his friend were hurled over the wall and
crushed to death."

[Illustration: WE LUNCHED IN MENTONE.]

As we ascended the mountains we saw on the slopes below us orchards of
gray olive trees, in the valleys orchards of dark green orange and lemon
trees filled with yellow fruit, clean looking white or yellow or pink
houses with red tile roofs dotting the landscape, and the white stone
Hotel Regina, beautiful for situation, standing prominent on a summit.
The rocks in the channel of the Paillon appeared to be a bed of pebbles.
In the distance, to the south, could be seen the buildings of the city
we had left and the glistening waters of the sea beyond; on the north,
wooded hills and terraced mountains; and far away, the snow covered
summits of the Alps. While we gazed at one of these scenes of beauty,
the soft mellow tones of a convent bell came pleasingly to our ears.

"Why is it the bells ring so sweetly here?" inquired one of the
occupants of our coach. "It must have been melodious notes like these
that pleased the ear of the poet Moore."

At each turn of the road our point of view changed and the panorama
unrolled before us. We looked down upon a series of beautiful pictures.
The Mediterranean lay two thousand feet below us, its surface reflecting
every shade of blue and green, its coast a succession of inlets, bays,
promontories, and peninsulas. White roads winding among the shrubbery on
the peninsulas looked like white ribbons on a green background, the red
tiled houses like little toys, and the harbor of Ville Franche like a
pond on which floated tiny boats that a child might play with.

"What a picturesque town!" exclaimed a tourist.

"That is the city of Eze. It is a very old city," said the driver.

"Perched among the mountains, with its odd castle on a detached hill
top," said one of the tourists "it reminds me of a painting by one of
the old masters. Cimabue, I think, or Perugino. I cannot remember which.
I am constantly regretting while traveling abroad that we are not more
proficient in history and art. While the professor and the artist were
with the party we could turn to them for information. But now we must
depend upon ourselves."

"Not necessarily," replied another, "for we have Baedeker and the
guides; and there are the drivers, too, to call upon when they can
understand our English or we can understand their French."

For some distance beyond Eze the road followed the side of rugged