There was no buffet, and seemingly no place in the neighbourhood where food could be purchased, but on my appealing to the porter I learnt that he was accustomed to entertain stray travellers in his house hard by, whither he at once led me.

To describe the room where my meal was provided would be sheer ingratitude: in my recollection it compares favourably with the _Albergo Nazionale_ of Squillace.

I had bread, salame, cheese, and, heaven be thanked, wine that I could swallow--nay, for here sounds the note of thanklessness, it was honest wine, of which I drank freely.

Honest, too, the charge that was made; I should have felt cheap at ten times the price that sudden accession of bodily and mental vigour.

Luck be with him, serviceable _facchino_ of Squillace! I remember his human face, and his smile of pleasure when I declared all he modestly set before me good and good again.