"Some would, mademoiselle. Some of our men wish for work and cannot obtain it."
"Only a small proportion—a very small minority," said the other Corsican. "If foreign labour were employed, the work would be finished in two years; if native, probably not in six. And it is more than possible, that even this small proportion of our people would not be found willing to work."
"You are a lazy people, monsieur."
"It is true, mademoiselle. And meanwhile capital will be idle. It is better for the capitalists, and better even for the country itself that the work should be done as quickly as possible."
The three villages of Luco, Serraggio, and San Pietro, were now completely embowered in lovely chestnuts, fully out; and brilliant fields of flax were passed, in masses of light-blue flowers.
Ponte Vecchio looked more beautiful than ever, in a passing gleam of sunshine; and as we got out for a farewell to our favourite spot, we discovered the remains of the ancient Pisan bridge lower down the gorge side—a narrow arch, unparapeted, thrown across from bank to bank for foot passengers, but now lying in scattered blocks down the hill-side, or making another boulder or two to vex and rouse the roaring torrent.
Meanwhile, the rain ran in a stream from Antonio's wideawake, and our concern was awakened that he still used his overcoat for a cushion, and not for its normal purpose.
"When do you wear your overcoat, Antonio?" at length one of us asked. "Is it intended for rain?"
Antonio turned round with his grave smile. "Yes, mademoiselle, it is for rain. But to-day is not much rain for Corsica."
"Not much rain?" we repeated. "Why, it has been pouring for three hours."