her habit, and went to bed.



Chapter II: In Santa Croce with No Baedeker

It was pleasant to wake up in Florence, to open the eyes upon a
bright bare room, with a floor of red tiles which look clean
though they are not; with a painted ceiling whereon pink griffins
and blue amorini sport in a forest of yellow violins and
bassoons. It was pleasant, too, to fling wide the windows,
pinching the fingers in unfamiliar fastenings, to lean out into
sunshine with beautiful hills and trees and marble churches
opposite, and close below, the Arno, gurgling against the
embankment of the road.

Over the river men were at work with spades and sieves on the
sandy foreshore, and on the river was a boat, also diligently
employed for some mysterious end. An electric tram came rushing
underneath the window. No one was inside it, except one tourist;
but its platforms were overflowing with Italians, who preferred
to stand. Children tried to hang on behind, and the conductor,
with no malice, spat in their faces to make them let go. Then
soldiers appeared--good-looking, undersized men--wearing each a
knapsack covered with mangy fur, and a great-coat which had been
cut for some larger soldier. Beside them walked officers, looking
foolish and fierce, and before them went little boys, turning
somersaults in time with the band. The tramcar became entangled
in their ranks, and moved on painfully, like a caterpillar in a
swarm of ants. One of the little boys fell down, and some white