Wondering, and trying to look pleased, I saw the woman seize the
portmanteau (a frightful weight), fling it on to her head, and march
away at a good speed.
The crowd and I followed to the dogana,
close by, where as vigorous a search was made as I have ever had to
undergo. I puzzled the people; my arrival was an unwonted thing, and
they felt sure I was a trader of some sort. Dismissed under
suspicion, I allowed the lady to whom I had been introduced to guide
me townwards. Again she bore the portmanteau on her head, and
evidently thought it a trifle, but as the climbing road lengthened,
and as I myself began to perspire in the warm sunshine, I looked at
my attendant with uncomfortable feelings. It was a long and winding
way, but the woman continued to talk and laugh so cheerfully that I
tried to forget her toil. At length we reached a cabin where the
dazio (town dues) officer presented himself, and this
conscientious person insisted on making a fresh examination of my
baggage; again I explained myself, again I was eyed suspiciously;
but he released me, and on we went. I had bidden my guide take me to
the best inn; it was the Leone, a little place which looked from
the outside like an ill-kept stable, but was decent enough within.
The room into which they showed me had a delightful prospect. Deep
beneath the window lay a wild, leafy garden, and lower on the
hillside a lemon orchard shining with yellow fruit; beyond, the
broad pebbly beach, far seen to north and south, with its white foam
edging the blue expanse of sea.
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