The gentleman was taking the lady's hand and was pressing it, speaking in a very low tone.

The lady was pretending not to listen to him, looking at the villas and the gardens at the left of the road sloping down toward the sea.
With noble magnanimity, however, the driver still wished to instruct his indifferent clients, showing them with the point of his whip the beauty and wonders of his repertoire.
"That church is _S.

Maria del Parto_, sometimes called by others the _Sannazaro._ _Sannazaro_ was also a noted poet who described the loves of shepherdesses, and Frederick II of Aragon made him the gift of a villa with gardens in order that he might write with greater comfort...
Those were other days, sir! His heirs converted it into a church and----" The voice of the coachman stopped short.

Behind him the pair were talking in an incomprehensible language, without paying the slightest attention to him, without acknowledging his erudite explanations.
Ignorant foreigners!...

And he said no more, wrapping himself in offended silence, relieving his Neapolitan verbosity with a series of shouts and grunts to his horse.
The new road from Posilipo, the work of Murat, skirted the gulf, rising along the mountain edge and constantly emphasizing the declivity between the covering of its feet and the border of the sea.