On our way back to the hotel we heard a funeral chant, and next moment appeared a procession of monks, their faces covered and only their eyes seen, and their hands hidden in their full sleeves, walking two and two. The following day at dinner we saw again the French _cocotte_ and her bronzed cavaliers, who this time appeared insensible to her charms, their temperature having fallen to below zero. Her fickle lovers had only monosyllables at her disposal. They took no notice of her and ate their dinner. The principal theatres of Milan are closed in summer, except the “Dal Verme,” where we went to see a new play. The theatre is awfully dirty, the curtain all in holes and the chair-backs wear the trace of the spectators’ feet. The performers were all second-rate and the play rather boring. This night again we were roasted alive. It is impossible to remain longer in this furnace, and we decided to go on to the Italian Lakes to look out for a comfortable boarding-house where I could put up during the manœuvres. The morning, as if on purpose, was comparatively fresh, the sky overclouded and the rain coming on; still we did not put off our journey and took the first train to Como. This town, with its Gothic cathedral, is very pretty. It is situated on Lake Como and surrounded by verdant mountains. Immediately on arriving, we took a carriage to Cernobbio, a little place where you take the boat to Bellaggio. The trip only occupies twenty minutes. Our driver pulled up at the entrance door of “Villa D’Este,” a beautiful old palace transformed into a large palatial hotel, standing in a garden of orange and lemon trees. The house had once been the residence of Napoleon Bonaparte. The dining-room is decorated with rich tapestries incrusted with the letter “N” in gold, surmounted by the Imperial crown. In the library we saw a large veiled figure, the statue of “Love and Psychè,” covered with gauze in order not to shock the prude spinster ladies of blameless morals dwelling in the hotel. After a hasty luncheon, we came out upon the beach, and I sat down to wait for the boat. I was that day in one of my nasty moods, in the humour to pick a quarrel with anyone, and Sergy’s imperturbable good-temper was a source of greater irritation to me. Poking an inoffensive pebble viciously with my umbrella, I said some detestable things to Sergy and was altogether horrid. Fearing lest I should say too much, I made myself the solemn vow not to pronounce one single word until I went to bed that night. And there we sat, side by side, with faces apart, in gloomy silence, when suddenly the idea struck Sergy to establish me at Cernobbio, whilst he would attend the manœuvres. He sat thinking for a while, then rose and strolled down by himself, investigating the neighbourhood to try and find some hotel where he wanted me to spend about three weeks. He soon came back to tell me that he had found out a nice boarding-house kept by a German lady, Frau