Stray Leaves from a Border Garden 
town hard by for the many luxuries that had been in 
perpetual request — baskets of Alpine Strawberries in the 
early days before they ripen sufficiently to claim an entire 
train to take them to Paris ; Mandarin Oranges when scarcely 
to be had ; and early vegetables or “ Primeurs ” when they 
were almost worth their weight in gold. And then the 
villa remained deserted, a lovely classic ruin in appearance, 
with green Acanthus-leaves creeping up and covering the 
scattered blocks of white stone and the prostrate columns 
of the unfinished colonnade. The shrubs and Palm-trees 
grew with the wild luxuriant energy of the South, and San 
Salvador became a favourite resort with strangers wintering 
in the neighbourhood, who were wont to picnic on the 
beach, by the side of the poor departed lady’s bathing-box, 
which no longer ran smoothly down its tiny railroad from 
the shelving bank to the purple blue water. She was gone, 
and I often wondered what had become of her, as I marked 
the bushy blazing Geraniums and thought of her pale 
pathetic face — such a contrast to the noisy buxom English 
who at intervals wake the deserted solitudes with their 
laughter and wondering speculations. There was a report 
in the little town once that M. Krach had been seen very 
poor in Barcelona or Madrid. I wondered whether the 
poor lady were not perhaps, after all, happier than in the 
days when I saw her. 
