ding him to stay, returned to Marseilles.
Here he was rejoined by his wife, and after a few days' exploration in
the neighbourhood they lighted on what seemed exactly the domicile they
wanted. This was a roomy and attractive enough house and garden called
the Campagne Defli, near the manufacturing suburb of St. Marcel, in a
sheltered position in full view of the shapely coastward hills. By the
third week in October they were installed, and in eager hopes of
pleasant days to come and a return to working health. These hopes were
not realised. Week after week went on, and the hemorrhages and fits of
fever and exhaustion did not diminish. Work, except occasional verses,
and a part of the story called _The Treasure of Franchard_, would not
flow, and the time had to be whiled away with games of patience and
other resources of the sick man. Nearly two months were thus passed;
during the whole of one of them Stevenson had not been able to go beyond
the garden; and by Christmas he had to face the fact that the air of the
place was tainted. An epidemic of fever, due to some defect of drainage,
broke out, and it became clear that this could be no home for Stevenson.
Accordingly, at his wife's instance, though having scarce the strength
to travel, he left suddenly for Nice, she staying behind to pack their
chattels and wind up their affairs and responsibilities as well as might
be. Various misadventures, miscarriages of telegrams, journeys taken at
cross purposes and the like, making existence uncomfortably dramatic at
the moment, caused the couple to believe for a while that they had
fairly lost each other. Mrs. Stevenson allows me to print a letter from
herself to Mr. J. A. Symonds vividly relating these predicaments (see
p. 11 foll.). At last, in the course of January, they came safely
together at Marseilles, and next made a few weeks' stay at Nice, where
Stevenson's health quickly mended. Thence they returned as far as
Hyeres. Staying here through the greater part of February, at the Hotel
des Iles d'Or, and finding the place to their liking, they cast about
once more for a resting-place, and were this time successful.

The house chosen by the Stevensons at Hyeres was not near the sea, but
inland, on the road above the old town and beneath the ruins of the
castle. The Chalet La Solitude it was called; a cramped but habitable
cottage built in the Swiss manner, with a pleasant strip of garden, and
a view and situation hardly to be