I liked all this more than I can say, and with Mr. Wake I wasn’t bothered by the crowds. Florence has about the same population as Baltimore, although Mr. Wake said it didn’t seem so because so many Italians crowd in a few rooms, and they live so tightly packed. One can walk to the edge of the city anywhere easily, for it doesn’t cover much space, but to me it seemed very large and, at first, confusing. After we had walked some time we turned in a tiny street that had an archway over it, and seemed as dark as ink from contrast to the sunny street we’d left. I liked it, and, as I picked my way over the big cobblestones, I said so. “It is a part of Florence that most tourists miss,” said Mr. Wake, “and it is too bad, for it is the most characteristic part. Ah, here we are--” he ended and we turned in a tiny doorway from which came the pleasant smell of hot sugar and warm bread. We got our cakes--which were very good--and took them in our hands, and went on a few doors, around a corner, up a few steps--and those right in the street at the back of some great palace--and then we turned into a broader way and found a shop that had the entire front open--they roll up during the day time and stay up even through all the winter--and here I had coffee and Mr. Wake a tiny glass of wine, and we ate and drank as the girl who had served us looked on and smiled. It was _very_ pleasant, and I had a _fine_ time! I told him about my interview with Signor Paggi and he thought I had got off easily. After we had eaten and talked we walked up past the Loggia dei Lanzi which has statues in it that commemorate all sorts of historic events and faces the square in which there is a replica of Michael Angelo’s David; the square is large, and very busy with quickly passing people, and the people who pause to make small groups that are always dissolving, and ever reforming; and these people always look futile. I didn’t know why, but Mr. Wake said that the Palazzo Vecchio, which is at right angles to the Loggia dei Lanzi and looks scornfully down over everything, made it. “See that old building over there?” he said, as he pointed with his cane. “Um hum,” I answered, as I looked way up at the great big tower, and tried to keep my mouth shut while doing it. I don’t know why it is so easy to look up with your mouth open! “In there,” said Mr. Wake, “are ghosts who talk of making war upon a neighboring town. They fear that Fiesole is growing too strong, Fiesole that looks down from the hill behind you.” “Did they fight like that?” I asked. “Exactly like that! And without putting anything on the bill-boards about it beforehand. . . . You see Italy was--not so long ago either--a land of little countries, for each city had its rulers, and fought for its rights, to keep its possessions, or to gain others. . . . And a lot of the plans went on in there--” and again he pointed with his cane.