"And what will be done to the man who knocked him down?"
"Oh, he will be fined."
A queer mixture of law and barbarism appears to co-exist in Sartene.
"Antonio," I asked, as we passed through village after village full of idling men, standing at street corners, whilst the church bell vainly called for Vesper worshippers, "do the men in Corsica never go to church? Have they no religion?"
"Not much, mademoiselle. They seldom go to a service unless there is some grand procession, and, for the most part, they do not themselves know what they believe."
"They are not staunch Roman Catholics, like the Italians?"
"The Jesuits are banished from Corsica, mademoiselle. They taught much, and the people miss that. Then the French have brought in new ideas, and many of our men have learnt to scoff, from them."
"Are not the priests respected, then? Are they not good?"
"Some are good, and some are bad, mademoiselle; but the people do not listen much to them. Sometimes, monks will come round the villages preaching, and they do good, for they are holy, and the men listen to them."
"Do the priests never try to stop the vendetta?"