These were the three avocats who, we had been previously informed, unfortunately occupied the three best bedrooms. These individuals we necessarily looked upon as our natural enemies; and our prejudice against them was not mitigated by the terrific noise made by them and the pretty waitress together.
She was a fat, untidy, golden-haired blonde; one of the prettiest women I ever saw in or out of Corsica, but gifted with the strongest faculty for banging about earthenware and metal utensils that could well be imagined.
This was the spoilt child of the house, adopted, we were informed, by the dark young hostess because of her superior education, which enabled her to talk French to the guests. And talk French she did, unceasingly—to the male guests, at any rate; standing with arms akimbo against the wall, chaffing Messieurs les avocats to our utter neglect, and making such a babel, between crockery flung about and shrieking repartee, that we felt strongly inclined to throw a plate at her touzled golden head.
Dinner, however, was achieved at last; and on re-entering our rooms, what a sight met us!
The sun had just set, and twilight was creeping on, but the whole of the near range of hills opposite lay bathed in a crimson glow that was almost blood red, and was reflected in the clear waters below. The glow remained for about five minutes, and then gradually faded away into the soft grey of evening. Never in my life did I see anything more beautiful or vivid than that sunset glow at Calvi.
Nos. 2 and 3 soon found that no retirement was to be had in their chamber. The low open window looked out upon a balcony, which led up by steps direct from the main street of the town.
The window-sill was just of a convenient height for the populace to lean their elbows upon, which they accordingly did, in large numbers. We could only shut out our visitors by closing both windows and inside shutters; and we preferred the populace.
At last came a swarthy black-browed Italian, introduced by the pretty waitress, whose noisy admirers had departed with their cigars down the street, and who therefore had nothing better to do than to gossip with us. He was a sailor, and his hands were full of pretty trinkets of coral and lava, picked up by himself.
His Italian patois was peculiar, and the waitress acted interpreter, whilst we bargained for his wares. He was a queer looking man, as black and dirty as soot and absence of soap and water could make him, with a passionate, cut-throat looking face, that broke out occasionally into childlike smiles.
The bargains being completed to every one's satisfaction, No. 1, who alone of us three could make herself understood by our dark friend, plunged him suddenly into a condition of hopeless confusion and swarthy blushes by requesting of him a song.