which makes the South so attractive, the mother reminded us that it was time to go in. We descended in the direction of the hotel, slowly but with buoyant steps, like children free from care.
We sat down in an open veranda in front of the hotel. We had no sooner settled down when we heard sounds of quarrelling and abuse below us. Our Greek seemed to have an altercation with the landlord, and we listened to amuse ourselves. The conversation did not last long.
‘If it weren’t that I had to consider other guests . . .’ said the landlord, while he came up the veranda steps.
‘Pray,’ said the young Pole, when he came near to our table, ‘who is that gentleman? what is his name?’
‘Oh, God knows what the fellow may call himself,’ said the landlord bad-temperedly, and looking daggers over the balustrade, ‘we call him the Vampire.’
‘An artist, I suppose?’
‘Nice sort of an artist . . . paints nothing but corpses. No sooner has any one died hereabouts or in Constantinople, when the fellow is ready with his death mask, the very same day. That’s because he draws in
