telling us to get up and move on!

Our world was a flower world again, ringed in like a secret fairyland,
with distant mountains of extraordinarily graceful shapes--charming
lady-mountains; and as far as we could see the road was cut through a
carpet of pink, white, and golden blossoms destined by and by for the
markets of Paris, London, Berlin, and Vienna.

Before I thought it could be so near, we dashed into Toulon, a very
different Toulon from the Toulon of the railway station, where I
remembered stopping a few mornings (which seemed like a few years) ago.
Now, it looked a noble and impressive place, as well as a tremendously
busy town; but my eye climbed to the towery heights above, wondering on
which one Napoleon--a smart young officer of artillery--placed the
batteries that shelled the British out of the harbour, and gained for
him the first small laurel leaf of his imperial crown.

I thought, too, of all the French novels I'd read, whose sailor heroes
were stationed at Toulon, and there met romantic or sensational
adventures. They were always handsome and dashing, those heroes, and as
we threaded intricate fortifications, I found myself looking out for at
least one or two of them.

Yes, they were there, plenty of heroes, almost all handsome, with
splendid dark eyes that searched flatteringly to penetrate the mystery
of my talc triangle. They didn't know, poor dears, that there was
nothing better than a lady's-maid behind it. What a waste of gorgeous
glances!

I laughed to myself at the fancy, and the chauffeur sitting beside me