With this preface they may be left to tell their own tale.
* * * * * _To Miss Browning_ Florence: November 14, 1852 [postmark].
My dearest Sarianna,--You can't think how pleased I am to find myself in Florence again in our own house, everything looking exactly as if we had left it yesterday.

Scarcely I can believe that we have gone away at all.
But Robert has been perfectly demoralised by Paris, and thinks it all as dull as possible after the boulevards: 'no life, no variety.' Oh, of course it _is_ very dead in comparison! but it's a beautiful death, and what with the lovely climate, and the lovely associations, and the sense of repose, I could turn myself on my pillow and sleep on here to the end of my life; only be sure that I _shall do no such thing_.

We are going back to Paris; you will have us safe.

Peninni had worked himself up to a state of complete agitation on entering Florence, through hearing so much about it.

First he kissed me and then Robert again and again, as if his little heart were full.