for us, seem to be able to do nothing--not even to put a chair straight,
or order some bread to keep us from starving--without consulting me.
Paul, taking advantage of a husband's prerogative, has gone off to
_flâner_ on the Piazza, while his women-folk make life tolerable at home;
which is a very unfair and spiteful version of his proceedings, for he
has really gone as much on my business as on his own. I sent him--feeling
his look of misery, as he sat on a packing-case in the middle of this
chaos, terribly on my mind--to see if he could find the English consul
(whom he knows a little), and discover from him, if possible, where your
friends are. It is strange, as you say, that Miss Bretherton should not
have written to me; but I incline to put it down to our old Jacques at
home, who is getting more and more imbecile with the weight of years and
infirmities, and is quite capable of forwarding to us all the letters
which are not worth posting, and leaving all the important ones piled up
in the hall to await our return. It is provoking, for, if the Bretherton
party are not going to stay long in Venice, we may easily spend all our
time in looking for each other; which will, indeed, be a lame and
impotent conclusion. However, I have hopes of Paul's cleverness.

'And now, four o'clock! There is no help for it, my dear Eustace. I must
go and instruct Caterina how not to poison us in our dinner to-night. She
looks a dear old soul, but totally innocent of anything but Italian
barbarities in the way of cooking. And Félicie also is well-meaning but
ignorant, so, unless I wish to have Paul on my hands for a week, I must
be off. This rough picnicking life, in Venice of all places, is a curious
little experience; but I made up my mind last time we were here that we
would venture our precious selves in no more hotels. The heat, the
mosquitoes, the horrors of the food, were too much. Here we have a
garden, a kitchen, a cool sitting-room; and if I choose to feed Paul on
_tisane_ and milk-puddings, who is to prevent me?