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But
he was afraid of meeting Russians there. The lady seemed to be
specializing in Muscovites just then, and Mr. Heard was not in the
Russian mood. He would take what he called "a day off" from social
duties.
Slipping his field glasses into his pocket, he rambled upwards by now
familiar paths, past white farmhouses nestling in a riot of greenery;
till he reached the barer regions. The vines were more sparsely
cultivated here, and soon all trace of human handcraft was at an end.
He found himself on a little plateau of volcanic cinders and
lava-blocks. The spare grasses and flowers that grew between fuliginous
masses of stone were already losing their bright enamel under the
withering heat; a peculiar odour, acrid but stimulating to the
nostrils, rose from the parched ground. Here he rested awhile. He
scanned the landscape through his glasses--a wine-coloured sea at his
feet, flecked with sailing boats innumerable; confronting him from the
volcano whose playful antics were even then attracting the attention of
a crowded Piazza.


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