In several of representations St. Roch an angel is seen beside him, touching his thigh, and the dog also sometimes carries a loaf in his mouth.
It was just beginning to cool a little when we were forced to turn homewards. Monte Rotondo was growing grander and nearer, the path was more lovely, and the chestnut woods thick and shady; but all these charms, alas! had to give way to the claims of the six o'clock table d'hôte at Hotel Pierracci. The return walk was delicious, and the fashionable hour of promenade had evidently just commenced; for we began to meet family groups taking their evening stroll together up the hitherto deserted gorge. Just where a lofty cypress, stem and solitary, lifted up its dark, pointed head high into the deep blue sky, to mark the presence of a tiny cemetery upon the steep hill-side above us, the sun suddenly fell behind Corte's framework of hills, and we re-entered the baking streets in early shadow.
At the doorway of the hotel a very tall sentry stood at arms; for we had the honour of housing a general beneath our roof.
This general was a very grand person. At dinner-time his rank and dignity obliged him to have a table to himself, where he sat eating his chicken and salad in solitary grandeur and profound silence. I was really sorry for the poor general; for he was young and good-looking, and seemed intended by nature and his own inclinations (as evinced by sundry half-wistful glances towards the large table, where we, the common herd, dined in unpretending sociability), for a more agreeable and gregarious lot than the one forced upon him by the claims of his exalted position.
It was very thrilling, however, to see our militaire receive his letters in the morning. The sentry entered, musket on shoulder, clanking through the salle à manger (for I am ashamed to say this military grandee had not a private sitting-room, or did not use it); grounded arms, saluted, presented the epistles from the extreme length of a very stiff arm, and then stood motionless at attention, an inanimate blue and red human poker.
Tremendously hot though the day had been, the evening was exceedingly chilly, and we at last requested the morbid waiter to light us a fire.
"What! cold?" he asked, incredulously.
"Yes," said I, apologetically, "I am afraid we are."
"Dear me, how strange it is! There are you cold, and I quite warm. Women are queer!"
"Well," said I, meekly, feeling quite relieved that this was all the scolding I was to receive; "you see, you work hard, and we are sitting still; that makes the difference."