"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 ******* 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.
