All of the beggars in Naples, I think, all of the flower-girls and boys, I am sure, and all the wandering serenaders, I will swear, were under our windows at the Vesuve, from six o'clock on the morning the "Princess Irene" sailed; and there need be no wonder when it is known that Poor Jr.

had thrown handfuls of silver and five-lire notes from our balcony to strolling orchestras and singers for two nights before.
They wakened us with "Addio, la bella Napoli, addio, addio!" sung to the departing benefactor.

When he had completed his toilet and his coffee, he showed himself on the balcony to them for a moment.

Ah! What a resounding cheer for the signore, the great North-American nobleman! And how it swelled to a magnificent thundering when another largess of his came flying down among them! Who could have reproved him?
Not Raffaele Ansolini, who was on his knees over the bags and rugs! I think I even made some prolongation of that position, for I was far from assured of my countenance, that bright morning.
I was not to sail in the "Princess Irene" with those dear friends.

Ah no! I had told them that I must go back to Paris to say good-bye to my little nieces and sail from Boulogne--and I am sure they believed that was my reason.