At a little _caffe_, known to him of old, he made a simple breakfast, glancing the while over a morning newspaper, and watching the children who came to fetch their _due soldi_ of coffee in tiny tins.

Then he strolled away and supplemented his meal with a fine bunch of grapes, bought for a penny at a stall that glowed and was fragrant with piles of fruit.

Heedless of the carriage-drivers who shouted at him and even dogged him along street after street, he sauntered in the broad sunshine, plucking his grapes and relishing them.

Coming out by the sea-shore, he stood for a while to watch the fishermen dragging in their nets--picturesque fellows with swarthy faces and suntanned legs of admirable outline, hauling slowly in files at interminable rope, which boys coiled lazily as it came in; or the oyster-dredgers, poised on the side of their boats over the blue water.

At the foot of the sea-wall tumbled the tideless breakers; their drowsy music counselled enjoyment of the hour and carelessness of what might come hereafter.
With no definite purpose, he walked on and on, for the most part absorbed in thought.