"Nanni, get up; father is ill."
I looked in my wife's face, and read there the nature and gravity of my poor father's illness. I ran to him; he recognised me, and said—
"My good Giannino, you have done well to come quickly to your father; I am so glad to see you before I die."
He lived all day, but had spasms of pain and wandered in mind. Then he died, and his face became serene, as if he were sleeping peacefully. Whoever has lost a father knows the kind of grief it is!
As I have said, I stayed but a few days in Paris. I saw, on the wing as it were, and without being able to study them, the monuments of art in which that great capital is rich. I repeat, I felt an irresistible desire to return home. Of the artists, I saw only Gendron, whom I had known in Florence; Anieni, a Roman; and Prince Joseph Poniatowsky, then in his prime. What was most to my taste was to ride up and down the streets of Paris in an omnibus to get an idea of the movement and grandeur of that city; but an incident occurred to me that prevented my having that desire any longer, and I should have put an end to this going up and down even if I had not already determined upon my departure. This was what happened. I had just come from a walk in the Champs Elysées, when I saw the omnibus which goes from the Barrière du Trône to the Madeleine standing still. I said to myself: "Very good; I will get in here, go through all the Boulevards as far as the Barrière, and without even descending, turn about again, and when I get back to the Rue du Helder (where I lodged), I will get out and go home." The omnibus started, drove through all the Boulevards des Italiens, des Capucines, Poissonnière, &c., and arrived at the Barrière. The passengers got out, the omnibus stopped, and the conductor said to me—
I RETURN TO FLORENCE.
"Monsieur, descendez, s'il vous plait."
I answered, "Je ne descends pas moi."
"Pourquoi donc?"
"Parce que je retourne sur mon chemin."