The Corsican Brothers Part 13

At the church door, at the instance of the mayor, they once again shook hands; and then each one, attended by his friends and relatives, made his way to his house, which for three years he had not entered.

Lucien and myself went back to Madame de Franchi's house, where dinner awaited us.

It is not difficult to perceive by the attentions I received that Lucien had read my name over my shoulder when I was signing the paper, and the name was not altogether unknown to him.

In the morning I had announced to Lucien my intention to depart after dinner. I was urgently recalled to Paris by the rehearsals of "Un Mariage sous Louis XV.," and notwithstanding the importunities of mother and son, I persisted in adhering to my first determination.

Lucien then asked permission to take advantage of my offer, and to take a letter to his brother; and Madame Franchi made me promise that I would hand this letter myself to her son.

There was really no trouble in the matter, for Louis de Franchi, like a true Parisian as he was, lived at No. 7, Rue du Helder.

I asked permission to see Lucien's room once again, and he himself conducted me thither, explaining everything to me.

"You know," he said, "if anything strikes you I hope you will take it, it is yours."

I unhooked a small poignard hanging in an obscure corner, as if to show that it had no value attached to it; and as I had seen Lucien notice with some curiosity my hunting-belt and its appurtenances, I begged him to accept it, and he had the good taste to take it without being pressed.

At that moment Griffo appeared to tell me that the horse was saddled and the guide waiting.

I put aside the little present I had intended to give to Griffo, which consisted of a hunting-knife and two pistols attached to it, the barrels of which were hidden in the hilt.

I never saw anybody so delighted as he was at this present.

I descended, and found Madame de Franchi at the bottom of the staircase, where she was waiting to bid me good-bye, in the same place where she had bade me welcome. I kissed her hand, feeling great respect for such a simple-minded and yet so dignified a woman.

Lucien accompanied me to the door.

"On any other day," he said, "I would saddle my horse, and ride with you beyond the mountain, but to-day I dare not quit Sullacaro for fear that one or other of the newly-made friends might commit some folly."

"You are quite right," I said; "and for my own part, I am very glad to have a.s.sisted at a ceremony so new to Corsica."

"Yes," he said, "you may well congratulate yourself, for you have to-day witnessed a thing which is enough to make our ancestors turn in their graves."

"I understand--their word was sufficient; they did not need a notary to reconcile them, I suppose?"

"They were never reconciled at all."

He then shook me by the hand.

"Have you no message for your brother?" I said.

"Yes, certainly, if it will not incommode you to deliver it."

"Well, then, let us embrace. I can only deliver that which I am able to receive." [See "Transcriber's Note."]

So we embraced each other.

"We shall see you again some day?" I said.

"Yes, if you come to Corsica."

"No, but won't you come to Paris?"

"I shall never go there," replied Lucien.

"In any case, you will find my card on the mantelpiece in your brother's room--do not forget the address."

"I will promise you that should any event call me to the Continent you shall have my first visit."

"Very well, that is agreed."

We shook hands once again and parted; but I noticed, so long as he could see me, he followed me with his eyes.

All was quiet in the village, although, of course, there was the usual agitation which follows the completion of a great public act; and as I went along the street I sought my friend Orlandi, who had never addressed a word to me, nor even thanked me; and so I pa.s.sed the last house in the village, and entered the open country without having seen any one like him.

I thought he had entirely forgotten me, and under the circ.u.mstances I quite excused him, but before I got very far out of the village I perceived a man stride from the underwood, and place himself in the middle of the road. I recognized him at once as the man who in my great regard for appearances, and in my impatience, I had accused of ingrat.i.tude.

He was dressed in the same costume as he had appeared in the previous evening in the ruins of Vicentello.

When I was about twenty paces distant from him he took off his hat; while I spurred my horse so as not to keep Orlandi waiting.

"Monsieur," he said, "I did not wish you to quit Sullacaro without accepting my thanks for the kindness you have shown to a poor peasant like myself, and as in the village I had not the heart, and could not command the language, to thank you, I waited for you here."

"I am obliged to you," I said; "but it was not necessary to take any trouble about it, and all the honour has been mine."

"And after all, monsieur," continued the bandit, "the habit of four years is not easily overcome. The mountain air is strong at first, almost suffocating--but now when I go to sleep in a house I should be afraid the roof would fall upon me."

"But surely," I said, "you will now resume your former habits. I understand you have a house, a field, and a vineyard."

"Yes, but my sister looks after the house; but the Lucquois are there to work in the field, and to raise the grapes. We Corsicans do not work."

"What do you do, then?"

"We overlook the labourers. We walk about with a gun upon our shoulders."

"Well, my dear Monsieur Orlandi," I said, extending my hand, "I wish you good luck; but recollect that my honour as well as your own will be compromised if you fire at anything but game or wild animals. You must never on any account draw a trigger on the Colona family."

"Ah! your Excellency," he replied, with an expression of countenance which I never remarked except amongst the natives of Normandy, "that hen they gave us was a very thin one."

And without another word he disappeared in the brushwood.

I continued my journey thinking that it was very likely that the meagre fowl would be the cause of another rupture between the Orlandi and the Colona.

That evening I slept at Albitucia, next day I reached Ajaccio.

Eight days afterwards I was in Paris.