"In his billet," continued Vaura, "he very kindly offers us the villa Iberia during our stay at Rome; of course in the most gallant and poetic manner of speech, as befits one of his race. During our first dance at the de Hauteville ball he told me it was his intention to go at once to his Italian villa, but it seems he has changed his mind, for in his letter he speaks of going there at some future time. And so, what think you, god-mother mine; do you feel inclined to be a guest of the absent lord and master?"
"It is for you to decide, ma chere."
"Be it so; I feel inclined to please him in this matter; but perhaps our kind escort has made other arrangements," turning to Trevalyon.
"No, ma belle; I had intended sending a telegram from Lyons to the proprietor of my favourite hotel (securing apartments), knowing him to be a very decent fellow; but now, perforce," he added with an intent look, trying to read her, "my would-be landlord must go to the wall, while the doors of the villa obey the open sesame of yourself and its master."
"While we make our entree," said Vaura.
"And now as to our route," said Lady Esmondet.
"I should say," said Trevalyon, "through the Mount Cenis pass, to Turin, thence, by easy rail stages down to Rome, so that you will not be too fatigued; we should spend a day in the virgin-white, the spotless cathedral at Milan. Florence would be another rest, all among its flowers and time-honoured works of art; also resting a few days at the foot of the mountains, where we could enjoy walks and drives up the magnificent mountain slopes, and through ravines too wondrous in their beauty to be ever blotted from one's memory."
"Oh, yes; your route would be delightful," said Vaura eagerly; "by all means, god-mother dear, let us linger by the way."
"Yes, we can afford a few days to the pure loftiness of the mountains; the life of to-day is so practical, if full of shams that a day with nature is as a tonic to one's higher, inner, self."
"Just as I have felt, dear Lady Esmondet, when the social atmosphere at London has become too narrow for me; you both know, how at times, what has been sufficient for one, suddenly develops the bars, as it were, of a cage, which one must burst to breathe freely. How many months have I spent in these woods upon the mountains, with only my good dog, leaving my man domiciled at some pension below; the terrific grandeur of the peaks resting against the blue heavens, the majestic crags, restful valleys with verdure clad, or awfully steep precipices, all speaking to me of a higher power, were company enough. The beautiful lake of Bourget, has charmed me so that I must stay my steps, and did; gazing long into its mirrored surface. Then from its calm, the mighty torrents, wildly dashing and foaming, held me, when my mood was so; the many views from Chambery, too, woo one to linger. There was one old ruin, which, if we come upon, I think you would greatly admire; it was on the ascent, down near Genoa, and where we could rest. Some Brothers of Saint Gregory, I think, is their order; such a quaint little chapel they have, which you should sketch, ma belle."