We accordingly returned to our six o'clock dinner, when we were informed that we must not open the windows of the little sitting-room, as the silk-worms did not like it, and it might give them cold!
The dinner was, as usual, very good, consisting of soup, a very excellent little Mediterranean fish, called sahl, haricot beans, and fowl, finishing with the national dish of broccia. Broccia, or "brasch," as some of the country people call it, is a pudding made of the pressed curds of goat's milk. You get it almost every day for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, in the inland parts of the island, and it is excellent, mixed either with a little lemon, or a sauce of brandy and sugar. It is a trifle insipid by itself.
After dinner, the cats all paid us a visit, and then the dear old octogenarian came in and had a chat, showing us an Italian sort of British Workman, profusely illustrated, which he seemed to consider an untold treasure, and which he said had been given him two years ago, by a "gentille jeune Anglaise."
CHAPTER VII.
THE COUNTRY OF SERAFINO AND MASSONI.
The next morning, at half-past seven, we left pretty Belgodere among its wild hills, saying good-bye to the simple-hearted proprietors of the clean little rooms, to the courteous old octogenarian, and to the four cats.
All night long the nightingales had been shouting, from under a clear sky, through our open windows; but the clouds began to lower as we started, and a showery day ensued.
For several hours we continued mounting towards the Col Colombano, the cultivated Basse Balagne lying at our feet, and the noblest views of sea and mountain constantly before us. Belgodere was at no mean elevation; and, as we mounted higher and still higher amongst the "everlasting hills," ranges of mountains of every colour lay, one behind the other, before us—red, blue and purple—some veiled in half mists, and some shining with a far-away sunlight,—separated from us by miles of grey atmosphere.
Over our heads and under our feet, great white masses of cloud were constantly passing hurriedly, often wrapping us in a fine rain, and hiding from us, for a few moments, everything but their own chilly grey curtain.
At the summit of the Col the sun broke out for a few minutes, and lit up a most magnificent view. It seemed as if we could go no higher. Everything lay beneath us, to the very edge of the distant soft horizon, and the hush of Nature in her solitude and her solemnity fell gently over sea and land and sky.
Not a sound was to be heard among those lonely hills; and yet the silence was eloquent, as is always such a summer silence up in the heights.