The bright points of the mountain-peaks faded one by one, while the clouds inflamed the sky.
Madame Marmet sneezed.
Miss Bell sent for some shawls, and warned the French women that the evenings were fresh and that the night-air was dangerous.
Then suddenly she said: "Darling, you know Monsieur Jacques Dechartre?
Well, he wrote to me that he would be at Florence next week.

I am glad Monsieur Jacques Dechartre is to meet you in our city.

He will accompany us to the churches and to the museums, and he will be a good guide.

He understands beautiful things, because he loves them.

And he has an exquisite talent as a sculptor.