On the Bright Shore
handkerchiefs. As to comfort, it is the same. In my office at Veprkoviski, five rooms could be put, each as large as the little den which they have given me in the hotel. The doctors have sent me to Nice for fresh air; but, as God lives, that Promenade des Anglais has the vile odor of a lodging-house in Cracow; my nephew Sigismund can testify to this."
But Sigismund's eyes were crawling out of his head as he looked at Pani Elzen's arms; and he did not hear what his uncle was saying.
"Remove to Bordighieri," said Svirski. "Italian dirt is artistic at least; while French dirt is vile."
"Still you are living in Nice?"
"I am, because I could not find a studio beyond Ventimiglia. Were I to move, I should prefer Antibes, on the other side."
When he had said this, he looked at Pani Elzen. At the corners of her mouth a faint smile appeared, and she dropped her eyes. Next moment, however, wishing, as it seemed, to turn conversation toward art, she spoke of
30
