"When was it built, Henri?"
"It dates from the time of the Saracens at the beginning of the ninth century, just after the death of Charlemagne during the golden age of the great Haroun al Raschid."
"Look, Henri, at that immense bank of rhododendrons forming a crimson carpet above the Corniche road. What a feast of colour for a painter."
"Yes," said the professor, "and look at that ruined temple with its Doric pillars entwined with African ivy. There, don't you see it—just above the quaint village of Turbia, or La Turbie as it is generally called, between those two limestone peaks, high above the rocky promontory of Monaco, and close to the fearful precipices of the Tête du chien. That is the triumphal tower, or Trophaea, built by Augustus to commemorate his victory over the Ligurians, and which marked the boundary between Gaul and Italy. In its perfect condition it formed a magnificent tower crowned as it was by a statue of the Emperor over twenty feet high. It must have presented an imposing appearance when surrounded by the camp of the Roman legions. What a contrast between the turmoil of war, the marching to and fro of the soldiers, the clashing of arms in those days, and the peaceful single white street bordered by houses and inns on either side, as it exists to-day. Now only a mighty ruin remains to recall its former greatness."
"Oh, yes," said Renée, "I remember I read about it in Tennyson's Daisy."
"Why, Renée, what a memory you have!"
"Not at all, Henri. You see I knew I was going to the Riviera, so I read up all I could about the place; and now the places seem like old friends."
"That is the way to travel, it is the only way to enjoy the scenery."
"Where are we going when the rest of the party returns?" asked Renée.
"Do you see that steep stony path near the funicular railway leading down the hill from La Turbie?"