"Waldemar," said the Emperor, taking the head of the cavalcade, "what do we begin with?" "With Tiberius's Villa, Sire." They rode under a gateway and then followed a roughly-paved path, rising gradually to the eastern promontory of the island. The Emperor laughed and enjoyed himself and good-humoredly chaffed the colossal Count von Waldemar, whose feet touched the ground on either side of the unfortunate donkey borne down under his weight. In three-quarters of an hour, they arrived first at Tiberius's Leap, an enormous rock, a thousand feet high, from which the tyrant caused his victims to be hurled into the sea. . . . The Emperor dismounted, walked up to the hand-rail and took a glance at the abyss. Then he went on foot to the ruins of Tiberius's Villa, where he strolled about among the crumbling halls and passages. He stopped for a moment. There was a glorious view of the point of Sorrento and over the whole island of Capri. The glowing blue of the sea outlined the beautiful curve of the bay; and cool perfumes mingled with the scent of the citron-trees. "The view is finer still, Sire," said Waldemar, "from the hermit's little chapel, at the summit." "Let us go to it." But the hermit himself descended by a steep path. He was an old man, with a hesitating gait and a bent back. He carried the book in which travellers usually write down their impressions. He placed the book on a stone seat. "What am I write?" asked the Emperor. "Your name, Sire, and the date of your visit . . . and anything you please." The Emperor took the pen which the hermit handed him and bent down to write. "Take care, Sire, take care!" Shouts of alarm . . . a great crash from the direction of the chapel. . . . The Emperor turned round. He saw a huge rock come rolling down upon him like a whirlwind. At the same moment, he was seized round the body by the hermit and flung to a distance of ten yards away. The rock struck against the stone seat where the Emperor had been standing a quarter of a second before and smashed the seat into fragments. But for the hermit, the Emperor would have been killed. He gave him his hand and said, simply: "Thank you." The officers flocked round him. "It's nothing, gentlemen. . . . We have escaped with a fright . . . though it was a fine fright, I confess. . . . All the same, but for the intervention of this worthy man . . ." And, going up to the hermit: "What is your name, my friend?" The hermit had kept his head concealed in his hood. He pushed it back an inch or so and, in a very low voice, so as to be heard by none but the Emperor, he said: "The name of a man, Sire, who is very pleased that you have shaken him by the hand." The Emperor gave a start and stepped back. Then, at once controlling himself: