"Mademoiselle," said a merry young soldier, in bright blue, in the next row, "do you never carry a pistol when you are travelling?"
"Not in Corsica," said I. "It is unnecessary, as no one is ever uncivil to ladies in this country."
At which innocent little bit of flattery they all grinned benignantly.
But for the next three or four hours there that pistol remained, with its muzzle pressed firmly against my back. I don't know what would be the sensation of most people under similar circumstances; but for a few minutes mine were novel, and I found but a semi-consolation in the reflection that to be shot through the heart is a comparatively painless end.
In half an hour, however, I had forgotten the fact. And, fortunately, Corsican pistols appear to have stiffish triggers; for, notwithstanding several grand jolts, it kept its contents to itself, and forbore to deposit them between my shoulder-blades.
Meanwhile, the little army of guns were placed on the top of the hood over our heads, from whence a stiffer jolt than usual would occasionally bring one or two flying down, to be caught in mid-air by the passengers, before they had perpetrated any mischief.
All travellers are not equally fortunate in escaping gun accidents under like circumstances. Only a short time before, on this very road, a passenger, sitting in the coupé, suddenly discharged his loaded gun by accident, and its contents were lodged in the heart of another man above, who died instantaneously. Both murderer and murdered were poor men; and eighty francs was all that the former was able to pay as compensation to the widow of the poor fellow killed by his carelessness.
Such accidents are by no means rare; but it would take a vast number of them to teach Corsicans that the carrying of loaded firearms is not essential to their dignity and their comfort.
At about noon the diligence stopped at a wayside inn for déjeuner; but having, for certain reasons, our suspicions of the food provided therein, and also preferring the lovely, hot, outside air to the foul, hot, inside air, we walked on down the road, beside the roaring river and the sloping rocks. We had not gone far before we came upon a bank, forty or fifty feet long, composed of a mass of the most magnificent maiden-hair fern, growing in fronds more than a foot long, and wonderfully luxuriant. Here we passed a solitary man sitting by the wayside, who eyed us attentively, and saluted us as we came up. After a minute or two he came after us (curiosity getting the better of the native pride for once), and walked alongside, plying us with the usual questions. He was particularly delighted with our praise of his country, and tried to persuade us to pay it a longer visit. He remarked that he had been puzzled as to our nationality, as he had never seen any Englishwomen before, and the French ladies did not walk after our energetic fashion.
But, in truth, after we had parted from our communicative friend, our energy soon faded, and we toiled slowly up the steep hill under a perfectly broiling sun, glad at last to creep into a scrap of shade a foot or two square, which was all a lengthened scrutiny could discover on the blazing roadway. It was the hottest sun we had felt since our arrival—a sun against which the combined protection of leaves inside the hat, pocket-handkerchiefs as puggerees, and thick umbrellas were of but little avail.