"But," said No. 3, "you Corsicans like the English, do you not? They have often been friendly to you."
"Yes," he replied; "the English are a free nation, and they can feel for those who fight for liberty."
We were quite sorry to say good-bye to our new friend, as we left him standing on the steps of his grand old church, the wind lifting his black hair, and a farewell smile lighting up the refined, visionary face, as he crossed himself with a thin brown hand.
Leaving the church, we wandered amongst the mazes of the little streets, which seemed strangely deserted in the midday sun; feeling glad at length to leave the strong glare of the citadel, and descend to the sea and lower town.
In doing so we missed our way among the many loopholed stone passages, and No. 1, fired by a desire to rouse one of those impassive white statues and hear his voice, stopped short before an Arab crouched upon a step, demanding of him our whereabouts.
The white bundle with the swarthy face, however, treated us with the contempt due to our temerity, never even taking the trouble to raise his black eyes, but keeping his stolid gaze fixed upon the sea before him.
I began to think these doubled-up men could not move, so motionless were they; and felt quite relieved when, later on in the evening, I saw them striding, positively running—turbans unloosed, white robes flapping, and shoes and stockings showing—up and down the streets, buying provisions preparatory to a start.
The shore of the bay surrounding Calvi is wide and smooth, with a fine sand and pretty shells, including a vast number of the mauve-coloured Donax. The morning mists were clearing away, and it was very pleasant to lie here, as we did, basking in the sun, watching snow peak after snow peak, behind the blue hills opposite, slowly unveil itself and stand out in a lovely white glow. The snow looked so close and so cool, bowing over the hot sands, and throwing shadows on to the sea beneath.
Coming home across the sandhills, which separate the shore from the level road, we came upon the most perfect and beautiful flowers I ever saw. They were a species of low growing cactus, only rising a few inches from the ground, the blossoms of a most brilliant rose colour. They had the appearance of chrysanthemums, and were about three or four inches across, covering the sandhills for yards with an unbroken sheet of vivid crimson.
Returning to the inn, we found our dinner awaiting us, as well as three native "gentlemen," who were anxious to commence operations at their table, but could not do so until our advent.