The journey was like a dream of enchantment and
rapidly changing surprises; and when it ended in a quaint hostelry at
San Remo, with palm-trees feathering the Bordighera Point and Corsica,
for once seen by day, lying in bold, clear outlines against the sunset,
Katy had to admit to herself that Nice, much as she loved it, was not
the only, not even the most beautiful place in Europe. Already she felt
her horizon growing, her convictions changing; and who should say what
lay beyond?
The next day brought them to Genoa, to a hotel once the stately palace
of an archbishop, where they were lodged, all three together, in an
enormous room, so high and broad and long that their three little
curtained beds set behind a screen of carved wood made no impression on
the space. There were not less than four sofas and double that number of
arm-chairs in the room, besides a couple of monumental wardrobes; but,
as Katy remarked, several grand pianos could still have been moved in
without anybody's feeling crowded. On one side of them lay the port of
Genoa, filled with craft from all parts of the world, and flying the
flags of a dozen different nations. From the other they caught glimpses
of the magnificent old city, rising in tier over tier of churches and
palaces and gardens; while nearer still were narrow streets, which
glittered with gold filigree and the shops of jewel-workers. And while
they went in and out and gazed and wondered, Lilly Page, at the Pension
Suisse, was saying,--
"I am so glad that Katy and _that_ Mrs.
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