These were the questions that perplexed me, and it will be readily understood they gave me ample food for thought.
However, feeling that continual silence was not polite, I made an effort to collect my ideas. I looked up.
The mother and son at the same instant perceived that I wished to enter into conversation.
“So,” said Lucien to me, as if he were continuing his remarks, “so you made up your mind to come to Corsica?”
“Yes, as you see, I had for a long time had a desire to do so, and at last I have accomplished it.”
“Ma foi! you have done well not to delay your visit; for with the successive encroachments of French tastes and manners those who come to look for Corsica in a few years will not find it.”
“However,” I replied, “if the ancient national spirit retires before civilization and takes refuge in any corner of the island, it certainly will be in the province of Sartène, and in the valley of the Tavaro.”
“Do you think so, really?” said the young man, smiling.
“Yes, and it appears to me that here at the present moment there is a beautiful and noble tablet of ancient Corsican manners.”