ORANGES AND ALMOND BLOSSOM 



water dripping from every corner / with the bits of columned 

 wall and the statues and the three great stone pines against 

 the blue sky ! It is all Italy in one small enclosure. 

 We moved from the Pincian Hill to much less interesting 

 quarters / but, with the luck that followed us all through 

 that happy time, quite close to the Borghese gardens. 

 There we had a black-and-white tiled dining-room and a 

 long drawing-room all hung with pearl grey satin and a 

 wonderful Aubusson carpet. And when the room was 

 filled with almond blossom there were compensations for 

 the exiguity of our accommodation. The lady who was 

 obliging enough to accept us as her tenants <for a rent 

 that filled our Roman friends with horror at our profligate 

 extravagance), although bearing a noble Austrian name, it 

 was darkly whispered, had a commercial origin. Her 

 businesslike spirit certainly showed itself in her transac- 

 tions with us / for neither blankets, nor cooking utensils, 

 nor the necessary glass and china were forthcoming, in 

 spite of magnificent assurances. 



" What will you ? " said Fiori, our beloved little chef, shrug- 

 ging his shoulders, " Sono Polacchi I " " The Countess/' 

 he informed the young housekeeper, "sent in her maid, 

 and I showed her the few poor pans, the miserable couple 

 of pots she expected me to do with. ' Is it not enough 1 ' 

 she cried. ' Enough ? ' I answered. ' Enough perhaps for 

 your lady, for a service that is content with an egg on a 

 plate, or one solitary cutlet ! But my noble family must 

 be nobly served/ " 



Excellent Fiori, he used to trot upstairs every night to 

 receive his orders, clad in the most spotless white gar- 

 ments and a new white paper cap, which he doffed with a 



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