"We are saying," quoth the colonel, "that we are going to take you for a trip to Ireland."

"Yes, with pleasure; and I'll be the Surella Colomba. Is it settled, colonel? Shall we shake hands on it?"

"In such a case," remarked the colonel, "people exchanges kisses!"

CHAPTER XX

One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the newspapers said, "plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of consternation," a young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with delicious water. He was accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably handsome, mounted on a small black horse, the strength and shape of which would have attracted the admiration of a connoisseur, although, by some strange accident, one of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching the village, the girl sprang nimbly to the ground, and, having helped her comrade to dismount, she unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets strapped to his saddle-bow. The horses were left in charge of a peasant.

The girl, laden with the wallets, which she had concealed under her _mezzaro_, and the young man, carrying a double-barrelled gun, took their way toward the mountain, along a very steep path that did not appear to lead to any dwelling. When they had climbed to one of the lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, and sat down on the gra.s.s. They were evidently expecting somebody, for they kept perpetually looking toward the mountain, and the young lady often consulted a pretty gold watch--as much, it may be, for the pleasure of admiring what appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as in order to know whether the hour appointed for some meeting or other had come. They had not long to wait. A dog ran out of the _maquis_, and when the girl called out "Brusco!" it approached at once, and fawned upon them. Presently two bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, cartridge-belts round their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. Their torn and patched garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which were brilliantly polished, and came from a famous Continental factory. In spite of the apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in this scene greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship.

"Well, Ors' Anton'," said the elder bandit to the young man, "so your business is settled--the indictment against you has fallen through? I congratulate you. I'm sorry the lawyer has left the island. I'd like to see his rage. And how's your arm?"

"They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight," said the young man. "Brando, my good friend, I'm going to Italy to-morrow--I wanted to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That's why I asked you to come here."

"You're in a fine hurry," said Brandolaccio. "Only acquitted yesterday, and you're off to-morrow."

"Business must be attended to," said the young lady merrily. "Gentlemen, I've brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don't you forget my friend Brusco."

"You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he's a grateful dog. You shall see. Here, Brusco," and he held out his gun horizontally, "jump for the Barricini!"

The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master.

"Jump for the della Rebbia!" And he leaped two feet higher than he need have done.

"Look here, my friends," said Orso, "you're plying a bad trade; and even if you don't end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you can look for is to die in the _maquis_ by some gendarme's bullet."

[*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place.

"Well, well," said Castriconi, "that's no more than death, anyhow; and it's better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your heirs snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are accustomed to the open air like us, there's nothing so good as to die 'in your shoes,' as the village folk say."

"I should like to see you get out of this country," said Orso, "and lead a quieter life. For instance, why shouldn't you settle in Sardinia, as several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for you."

"In Sardinia!" cried Brandolaccio. "_Istos Sardos!_ Devil take them and their lingo! We couldn't live in such bad company."

"Sardinia's a country without resources," added the theologian. "For my part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their bandits. That's a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out upon Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia, is that you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have taken to our life in the _maquis_, after having once tried it, as you did."

[*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of it. He means that bandits who let themselves be caught by horse soldiers are idiots, and that soldiers who try to catch bandits on horseback have very little chance of getting at them.

"Well," said Orso, with a smile, "when I was lucky enough to be your guest, I wasn't in very good case for enjoying the charms of your position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my good friend Brandolaccio guided."

"And the delight of escaping from your pursuers," rejoined Castriconi; "is that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of absolute freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to insure respect," and he held up his gun, "we are kings of everything within its range. We can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That's a highly moral entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we don't deny ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant's life, when he has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote had? Listen! The other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi's uncle--old miser that he is--wouldn't give her a dowry. So I wrote to him. I didn't use threats--that's not my way. Well, well, in one moment the man was convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people happy. Believe me, Orso, there's no life like the bandit's life! Pshaw!

You'd have joined us, perhaps, if it hadn't been for a certain young Englishwoman whom I have scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty every one in Bastia is talking."

"My future sister-in-law doesn't like the _maquis_," laughed Colomba.

"She got too great a fright in one of them."

"Well," said Orso, "you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me whether there is anything I can do for you?"

"Nothing," said Brandolaccio. "You've heaped kindnesses upon us. Here's little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there'll be no necessity for my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure her marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and powder whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you back in Corsica one of these days."

"In case of pressing need," said Orso, "a few gold coins are very useful. Now we are such old friends, you won't refuse this little _cartouche_.[*] It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind."

[*] _Cartouche_ means a collection of gold pieces as well as a cartridge.

"No money between you and me, sir," said Brandolaccio resolutely.

"In the world money is everything," remarked Castriconi, "but in the _maquis_, all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that carries true."

"I don't want to leave you without giving you something to remember me by," persisted Orso. "Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?"

The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso's gun.

"By my faith, if I dared--but no! you're too fond of it."

"What would you like?"

"Nothing! 'Tisn't anything at all. It's knowing how to use it as well. I keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours--and with only one hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!"

"Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don't use it more than you are obliged."

"Oh, I won't promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your mind easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it's all over with Brando Savelli."

"And you, Castriconi--what am I to give you?"

"Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I'll simply ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse me, and prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There's a little woman who sells cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she'll see I get it."

"You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to be one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good friends, we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of Sardinia write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on the mainland."

"To-morrow, lieutenant," said Brando, "when you get out in the harbour, look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we'll wave our handkerchiefs to you."

And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo, and the bandits departed up the mountain.

CHAPTER XXI

One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made bride--Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately discovered Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of the country paid a visit.

Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out their pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the colonel and Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, left them to themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood.

"My dear Colomba," said the colonel, "we shall never get back to Pisa in time for lunch. Aren't you hungry? There are Orso and his wife buried in their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, it lasts forever!"

"Yes," remarked Colomba. "And yet they never bring the smallest sketch home with them."

"I think," proceeded the colonel, "our best plan would be to make our way to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and perhaps some _aleatico_. Who knows, we might even find strawberries and cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our artists."

"You are quite right, colonel. You and I are the reasonable members of this family. We should be very foolish if we let ourselves by martyrized by that pair of lovers, who live on poetry! Give me your arm! Don't you think I'm improving? I lean on people's arms, wear fashionable hats and gowns and trinkets--I'm learning I don't know how many fine things--I'm not at all a young savage any more. Just observe the grace with which I wear this shawl. That fair-haired spark--that officer belonging to your regiment who came to the wedding--oh, dear! I can't recollect his name!--a tall, curly-headed man, whom I could knock over with one hand----"