this was his first glimpse of Sicily, he had watched the same villages
come and go all through a long, hot afternoon, had seen the same
groves of orange and lemon and dust-green olive-trees, the same fields
of Barbary figs, the same rose-grown garden spots, until he was
heartily tired of them all. He felt at liberty to smoke, for the only
other occupant of the compartment was a young priest in flowing mantle
and silk beaver hat.

Finding that Blake spoke Italian remarkably well for a foreigner, the
priest had shown an earnest desire for closer acquaintance and now
plied him eagerly with questions, hanging upon his answers with a
childlike intensity of gaze which at first had been amusing.

"And so the Signore has traveled all the way from Paris to attend the
wedding at Terranova. Veramente! That is a great journey. Many
wonderful adventures befell you, perhaps. Eh?" The priest's little
eyes gleamed from his full cheeks, and he edged forward until his
knees crowded Blake's. It was evident that he anticipated a thrilling
tale and did not intend to be disappointed.

"It was very tiresome, that's all, and the beggars at Naples nearly
tore me asunder."

"Incredible! You will tell me about it?"

"There's nothing to tell. These European trains cannot compare with
ours."

Evidently discouraged at this lack of response, the questioner tried a
new line of approach.