To those who are neither afraid of them nor angry with them, the pursuing horde will generally, after a few moments, show both civility and politeness. The age of chivalry in Corsica comes early. At thirteen, or even younger, a Corsican boy becomes a courteous young gentleman; and we soon learnt to feel at ease regarding our tormentors if we saw any approaching to that civilizing period of life.
The inn at Ile Rousse was not uncomfortable, and in appearance was vastly superior to many to which we went later on. We hoped and believed it was the abode of cleanliness; but, alas! hopes and appearances are delusive. The food, however, was excellent.
On our return from our twilight walk, we found our little table d'hôte dinner awaiting us, consisting of good soup, boiled beef, excellent duck, salad, cheese, "gateaux de Corse," and dessert. There were other diners in the general salle; but in consideration of our sex and our gentility, our dinner was brought to us in a smaller detached room.
The diners, however, soon cleared away; and when we entered the salle-a-manger to write our letters, we found the young landlady and her sister quite ready for a chat.
This was our first introduction to an almost invariable custom in small Corsican inns. The reserved Briton who would decline the after-dinner chat with his host or hostess, would be considered here a very churlish individual.
Our landlady, we found, was quite a historical character, being no other than the young woman of the "rose," named in Mr. Lear's book on Corsica. She was not quite so young now as then, it being eleven years since that episode; but she was still blooming, and as gay and talkative as a tame parrot; and whenever she laughed, (and that was not seldom or gently,) she shook the long plait of black hair that hung down her back until it danced again.
First presenting us each with a handsome bouquet of flowers "out of the garden," she and her sister drew their chairs up to the table, and leaning their elbows upon it, prepared for an hour's good gossip. Every one of our nation who had ever visited Ile Rousse was described to us minutely, with the inquiry as to whether we knew him; and the visitor's book, with its laudatory remarks and poetical effusions, shown us, with the urgent entreaty that we would translate those of them that were written in English.
This we did, refusing, however, when we were requested to indite a poem on our own account therein.
This was a sore disappointment to the "lady of the rose," who declared emphatically of No. 1 that she had "la physiognomie poetique!" but who recovered herself the next moment, and begged that we would, on our way upstairs, peep at any rate into the beautiful best bedroom, which she generally gave to her English guests, and which we should have had, had we sent a telegram beforehand to say we were coming, but which unfortunately was now occupied by a Corsican messieur.
So much occupied was it, that it was not until we were fairly in the show apartment, that we discovered that the occupant was already in bed, sleeping the sleep of the just!