My old friends the Levdics have taken their abode in Italy having been expatriated by the doctors on account of their health. They spend the winter months in Florence and the summer at Viareggio, a little sea-side resort beyond Florence. We went to see them at Viareggio, and as we knew nothing of their address, we had to go to the post-office for information. Their home is a very pretty one, and the outlook from their terrace on the Mediterranean and the neighbouring mountains is wonderful. Next day we visited the “Certosa,” a convent situated on a high mountain in the outskirts of Florence. The cloister opens hospitable doors to strangers. We were gallantly received by the monks, who live here a luxurious life. Each monk occupies an apartment of several rooms, with a patch of garden. A tall, stout monk, in flowing white robes, served as guide to us. He conducted us, clacking his sandals on the stone flags, along white bare corridors paved with marble, which echoed to our footsteps. We were taken into a large refectory resembling much more an elegant Parisian restaurant. Then we went to the dormitory where the monks sleep. When our guide ushered us into his bedroom, I stealthily touched his bed and found it far too soft for a recluse. Before leaving the cloister we bought a few bottles of the “certosa liqueur” fabricated by the monks, for which we had to pay a considerable tax before entering Florence. Feeling awfully hungry, we stopped half-way at an “Osteria” when passing through the little town of Galuppi. It was very cool and pleasant here after the dusty road, but our dinner had been uneatable: we had a dish of macaroni swimming in oil, and a fish fried also in oil. Ugh—the horror! Night was approaching and icy cold rain began to fall. We returned to Florence famished and chilled to the very bone. And our room at the hotel was so cold! You feel the cold much more abroad than in Russia, where the houses are much better heated. How I long for our warm Russian stoves!