"Oh, madame, I cannot sing!"
"What! an Italian sailor not sing?"
"No, no; indeed, madame, I cannot."
"What, not this?" and madame hummed a gay boating song.
If our friend did not sing the song, it was clear that he knew the words of it well, for on hearing them he became greatly excited, seizing both madame's hands in his and pressing them affectionately.
Some weeks later, when at Ajaccio, Nos. 2 and 3, strangely enough, again lighted upon our sailor friend. He was standing at the hotel door with a companion, armed with fresh corals and some lovely feathery seaweed. He seemed delighted to see us again, inquiring effusively after No. 1, and informing us that he had worked his way on foot from Calvi.
By the time our sailor had departed, it was growing dark. But our visitors were not over. The door opened, and in trooped four or five people, carrying with them the "canapie" which was to be devoted to our use for the night, and proceeding leisurely, amidst much gossip, to make the bed.
We understood and tolerated the presence of the master of the house over this ceremony; but I was a little puzzled by the comfortable deportment of a tidily dressed young man, who came in with the rest, examined the shells upon the dressing-table, and entered into easy conversation with us.
I inquired of giddy golden-head who he was.
"Oh," she said, carelessly, "he is a friend of ours; mate of a vessel in the harbour."