One night we all went up to Anacapri, where several fishermen and girls danced a tarantella for us. The music was absolutely irresistible ! We looked on for some time, and then we began to realise that, after all, we were neither of us Methuselahs !

“Come on,” cried Munthe. “Why shouldn’t we dance too ?”

I hesitated for a moment. I didn’t know the steps, and said so.

“What does it matter ? Just let yourself go to the music ! Corraggio ! Avvanti!”

How we danced under that vine-covered pergola ! It was a splendid moonlight night - there wasn’t a breath of wind. Naples was visible in the distance with its flaming girdle of lights, and the contrast between our moonlit, star-lit mountain ball-room, and the glittering town, from which the sea divided us, was too beautiful for words. Every ten minutes or so one of the pretty, dark-eyed girls went round with wine, and we were obliged to make a pretence of sipping at the tumbler every time, or our hosts would have felt aggrieved. At last I had to give in. I had danced till I could dance no more, and we still had to walk down to the Marina to our little inn by the sea.