One arm had been cut off, the stump being still bandaged, and I asked him how it was done. In some machinery works, he told me, three months ago only; but his patois prevented my understanding the details.
"Before that, I worked," he said, with a little pride (as he might well have of his occupation in this indolent country).
"It must be hard for you now to do nothing," I said.
He looked up with a pathetic smile in his brown eyes. "Yes. And my family are too poor to keep me."
"And so you beg?"
"Si, mademoiselle."
So far, at any rate, his new trade did not seem to have destroyed the self-respect of the wistful-looking young fellow, who seemed to regard it in the light of a necessary though uninteresting duty; and the intelligence of his countenance led one to hope that before long he might find some more worthy occupation.
CHAPTER XIII.
BOCOGNANO BUGBEARS.
After an affectionate farewell to Hôtel Germania, its comforts and its cleanliness, bearing each of us a sweet-smelling bouquet of rosebuds, geraniums, and heliotrope, presented by the young waiter to his last customers with a mournful air, we left sunny little Ajaccio for the last time, accompanied by our old friend Antonio, for whom we had been careful to bargain.
It was a heavy thundery-looking day, though rainless, and, underneath their white snow caps, the shadows of Monte Nebbio and Monte d'Oro loomed purple before us as we drove up the flat Bastia road.