Our garden was beautiful to-night--a splendid moon just rising over the black trees, and a soft delicious air. We have had a quiet evening, talking and reading in the small salon. Charles was very interesting, talking about old Italy and their beginnings in Turin. It seems the etiquette of that Court was something awful. Mary told us that she was talking one day to the Marchesa S. (a lively little old lady who took snuff) who had been in her time a famous wit and beauty, dame d'honneur to the wife of Carlo Alberto. Mary was rather complaining of the inconvenience of going to the winter reception of the Duchess of Genoa (she had only one in the year) where all the ladies of the Corps Diplomatique were obliged to go in full dress décolletée at about 4 in the afternoon. "Ah, ma chère," said the old Marchesa, "what would you have said in our time?" She told her that when the Queen-Mother was ill in the winter at the Château of Stupinigi, some miles from Turin, all her ladies had to go and inquire for her in full dress and manteaux de cour, and that when they knew she was in bed, and could see no one. Mary has splendid Italian lace which she bought from one of the ladies of the old Queen after her death. It would cost a fortune now, and in fact could not be had unless some private individual in reduced circumstances was obliged to sell. I had a nice visit from Alberti to-day--just the same--gay, impossible, saying the most risqué things in a perfectly natural way, so that you can hardly realize the enormities you are listening to. They don't sound so bad in Italian--I think the language veils and poetizes everything. He is very anxious we should go out and spend the day at Signa--his most lovely place--and I wish we could, I should like W. to see it--so much natural beauty--and, with our northern ideas, so absolutely neglected--splendid rooms, painted ceilings--no practical furniture of any kind, and a garden that was a dream of wild beauty--flowers everywhere, climbing up over the roof, around bits of grey wall, long grass that almost twisted around one's feet, and such a view from the terrace. I told W. afterward of our great day there long ago, when we started at 10 in the morning and got back at 2 A.M. I wonder if you remember the day? We were a large party--Van Schaicks, Maquays, Coxes, and others whose names I forget and pretty much every man in Florence (of all nationalities). We started by rail--the women all in light muslin dresses and hats. We were met by carriages of all kinds--Alberti's own little pony-trap--and a collection of remarkable vehicles from all the neighbouring villages. The drive was short, but straight up a steep hill--the villa most beautifully situated at the top, with a background of green hills. Two or three rooms had been arranged for us--so we took off cloaks--a nice, sympathetic Italian woman brushed off the dust--and we went at once to breakfast in the state dining-room--the big doors on the terrace open.