I stopped at Turin, then the capital of Italy, only a short time, and hurried on to Florence, for that was to be my home for the winter.  It was delightful to come down from the Alpine snows and find myself face to face with roses and orange trees bearing fruit and blossom.  Here I wandered through the olive-gardens alone, and gave way to the rapturous sense of simply being in the land of art and romance, the land of love and song; for there was no ecstatic person with me armed with Murray and prepared to admire anything recommended therein.  Besides, I could enjoy Italy for days and months, and therefore was not obliged to “do” (detestable tourist slang!) anything in a given time.  I was free as a bird.  I knew no Americans in Florence, and determined to studiously avoid making acquaintances except among Italians, for I wished to learn the language as I had learned French, by constantly speaking it and no other.

The day following my arrival in Florence I went out to look for lodgings, which I had the good fortune to find immediately.  I secured the first I looked at.  They were in the Borgo SS.  Apostoli, in close proximity to the Piazza del Granduca, now Delia Signoria.  I was passing this square, thinking of my good luck in finding my niche for the winter, when, much to my surprise, some one accosted me in English.  Think of my dismay at seeing one of the irrepressible Paris bores I had fled from!  He was in Florence before me, having come by a different route; and neither of us had known anything about the other’s intention to quit Paris.  He asked me at once where I was stopping, and I told him at the Hotel a la Fontana, not deeming it necessary to add that I was then on my way there to pack up my traveling-bag and pay my bill.  As he was “doing” Florence in about three days, he never found me out.  The next I heard of him he was “doing” Rome.  This American prided himself on his knowledge of Italian; and one day in a restaurant, wishing for cauliflower (cavolo fiore), he astonished the waiter by calling for horse.  “Cavallo"! he roared—­“Portez me cavallo!” “Cavallo!” repeated the waiter, with the characteristic Italian shrug. “Non simangia in Italia, signore” (It is not eaten in Italy, signore).  Then followed more execrable Italian, and the waiter brought him something which elicited “Non volo! non volo!” (I don’t fly!  I don’t fly!) from the American, and “Lo credo, signore” from the baffled waiter, much to the amusement of people at the adjacent tables.

I liked my new quarters very much.  They consisted of two goodly-sized rooms, carpeted with thick braided rag carpets, and decently furnished, olive oil provided for the quaint old classic-shaped lamp, and the rooms kept in order, for the astounding price of thirty francs a month.  Wood I had to pay extra for when I needed a fire, and that indeed was expensive; for a bundle only sufficient to make a fire cost a franc.  There were few days, however, even in that exceptional winter, which rendered a fire necessary.  The scaldino for the feet was generally sufficient, and this, replenished three times a day, was included in the rent.