"Follow me carefully, Hugh," he said, walking on as though to descend the promontory on the other side. I did so, along a winding, narrow path covered with loose stones, until suddenly, as we reached a sharp corner, I came to a standstill, and could not repress a cry of admiration. Just below was a wide, natural plateau jutting out until it seemed to stand sheer over the violet sea, and around it at regular distances, close to the side of the hill, and overhung by a luxurious out-growing plantation of cypress-trees, were a number of rudely constructed brown tents. Lying about on the turf were several men dressed in a picturesque medley of bright-hued garments, smoking long cigarettes and drinking wine from horn cups. It reminded me of a scene from the _Spanish Student_, only it was far more beautiful. A tall, dark man of swarthy complexion and black eyes, but who was far from ill-looking, came forward languidly to meet us. My father spoke to him rapidly apart for a moment or two, and then he turned towards me. "This is Monsieur José, Hugh, whose guest I am." Monsieur José took off his feathered hat, and made me a sweeping bow. "The son of my friend, the Englishman is very welcome," he said, speaking in French. "You would wish to rest, no doubt? If monsieur will seek his tent, I will order refreshments to be sent." We entered one of the curiously-shaped habitations, and I glanced wonderingly around. There was a small chest, a gun, a little pile of books, a bed of dried leaves and heath pressed together in a compact form, which gave forth an aromatic, agreeable smell, and very little else. "Not much furniture, you see," my father remarked. "Now come outside again." A white cloth had been spread out on the turf, and wooden dishes of olives, aloes, magnificent grapes, and some sort of dried meat had been arranged on it. Two long-necked bottles of wine and a couple of horn mugs were also brought, and then the man who had been making these preparations bowed clumsily and withdrew. I flung myself on the turf by my father's side, and, for the first time for many years, we ate and drank together. Afterwards we lit long paper cigarettes, of which there seemed to be no lack, and I stretched myself out with a sense of dreamy satisfaction. The warm, balmy air, heavily laden with the exquisite perfume of wild-flowers and the odorous scent of the vineyard, seemed to lull my senses into a sweet, satisfied stupor, and for hours we both lay there, scarcely exchanging half-a-dozen sentences. "Father," I said, suddenly, "a man might be happy here." He sighed. "It would not be impossible," he assented. I thought of London at night, with its endless whirl of excitement and hurry; its flaming gas-lights, its heated theatres, its hurrying, eager crowds, and its hideous vice, and I drew a deep, satisfied breath. "One is happiest out of the world, I think, after all. How could any man be miserable in a place like this?"