At the remembrance of the fact that they had parted only so short a time before, she smiled. Her face lit up with an expression in which languor was mingled with such archness, grace with such voluptuous charm, that the young man, at the risk of being seen by the Chésys or Dickie Marsh, printed a kiss upon the hem of the loose Scotch cloak that enveloped her, its long hood streaming behind in the wind. Happily the American and his two guests had eyes for nothing but the beautiful city growing nearer and nearer and more distinct. It towered aloft now, girdled by its encircling mountains. Beyond the two ports, with their forests of masts and spars, could be seen the countless houses of the town, of all shapes and heights, pressed closely one upon the other. Tiny, narrow streets, almost lanes, wound upward, cutting through the mass of dwellings at right angles. The colors of the houses, once bright and gay, were faded and washed out by sun and rain. And yet it seemed still a city of wealth and caprice, with the terraces of its palaces outlined and covered with rare plants and statues. The apparently endless line of scattered villas stretching along the coast were here clustered in groups like little hamlets, forming suburbs outside the suburbs, and further on stood isolated in the luxuriant verdure of gardens and shrubbery. With the simple aid of a field-glass Marsh recognized everything, palaces, villas, suburbs, one after the other. "There is San Pier d'Arena," he said, handing the glass to Yvonne and her husband, "and there are Cornegliano and Sestri to the left. To the right you can see San Francesco d'Albaro, Quarto, Quinto, San Mario Ligure, the Villa Gropallo, the Villa Croce." "Why, Commodore, there is another trade you can turn to the day your pockets are empty," said Madame de Chésy, laughingly. "You can become cicerone." "Oh," said Marsh, "it is the easiest thing in the world. When I see a place that I cannot recognize or that I do not know, I feel as though I were blind." "Ah! You are not like me," cried Chésy. "I never could understand a map, and yet that has not prevented me getting a lot of amusement out of my travels.--Believe me, my dear fellow, we are right not to trouble about such things; we have sailors on sea and coachmen on land to attend to them!" While this conversation was going on at the bow, Florence Marsh was aft trying to instil a little courage into Andryana Bonnacorsi. The future Vicomtesse de Corancez would not even glance at the town, but remained with her eyes looking fixedly at the vessel's wake. "I feel convinced," she said with a sigh, "that Genoa will be fatal to me; 'Genova prende e non rende,' as we Italians say."