“When at length the drug had done its work, and the poor girl lay stretched upon her bed in a state of unconsciousness, a general consultation was held, at which it was resolved to spare no pains to discover and punish the authors of so atrocious a crime, and with this understanding the visitors on the following morning departed on their several ways.
“For days the efforts put forth to discover the offenders resulted in a complete failure, and in the meantime poor Isabel lay tossing restlessly with brain-fever. At length one night an intoxicated French soldier blurted out the secret in the hearing of every one of the occupants of the tavern, and a little judicious questioning, mingled with occasional expressions of incredulity, extracted from the fellow the full details of the crime. These were promptly communicated to Count di Solzi, who immediately called upon the officer who had been named as the chief culprit, and taxed him with it.
“The wretch scornfully admitted his share in the outrage, and scoffed at the agonising grief of the poor old man. A challenge followed, as a matter of course, and a meeting was arranged for the following morning; but when that morning dawned, the French officer was found dead in bed, stabbed to the heart. The count was immediately arrested on suspicion of being the assassin, and though all the neighbouring nobility knew the charge to be as monstrous and ill-founded as ever was brought against mortal man, and did all that lay in our power to have the matter properly investigated—and though soon after his arrest one of his own servants came voluntarily forward and confessed that it was he, and not his master, who had done the deed—poor Isabel’s father was summarily tried, sentenced, and hanged over the gate of his own chateau.
“This act of base and cruel injustice, coupled with the previous outrage, caused the smouldering spark of discontent and disaffection to blaze forth at once into a devastating insurrectionary flame.
“The most ruthless reprisals were forthwith resorted to on both sides; assassination, secret and open, became the order of the day; the Corsicans flew to arms, and the struggle commenced which is now being waged, and which can never end until the hated French have been extirpated from off the face of the island.”
“And how fared the unhappy Isabel meanwhile?” I inquired.
“She was on her father’s arrest brought here at the imminent risk of her life,” replied the count, “and while she still lay delirious, her father’s execution took place; the chateau was then sacked, and when the soldiers had loaded themselves with every article of value which it was possible for them to take away, they set fire to the place, and, driving back at the point of the bayonet all who approached for the purpose of extinguishing the flames, stood by until it was burned to the ground. It was late at night before all was done, and the officer in charge of the troops who had carried through this shameful deed of murder and spoliation was imprudent enough to camp for the night close to the scene of the outrage. Sentinels were duly posted, and everything was, as this man thought, made perfectly secure; but he was fatally mistaken. The sentinels were surprised in detail, and despatched without having had an opportunity to give the alarm, and then a band of upwards of 100 armed Corsicans stole in upon the defenceless camp and slaughtered every one of the sleeping Frenchmen—not one survived to tell the tale.
“Isabel, contrary to expectation, rapidly recovered both her health and her reason; but it soon became apparent that a terrible change had been wrought in her, though how terrible we did not realise until afterwards.
“Of course it was not to be expected that a girl who had passed through what she had would ever be the same again, but there was a change in her, apart from what might reasonably have been expected under the circumstances. Her reason appeared to be completely restored; she talked calmly and rationally enough upon all subjects, not excepting even her misfortunes; but there was a coldness and reserve about her, even with us, her most intimate friends, which we found it very difficult to understand. At length one day we missed her, and apprehensive of a recurrence of the temporary aberration of intellect from which she had so recently recovered, we searched for her in all directions for three whole days without success, at the end of which time we received a note from her, thanking us for what she was pleased to term our great kindness, and informing us that she had taken steps to carry out the sole purpose of her future life, which was vengeance upon the authors of her wrongs, and the enemies of her country. We knew not what to make of this statement at first, but we soon afterwards learned that it meant she had formed a guerilla band at the head of which she had placed herself—the avowed object of which is war to the knife with the French, as long as any of them remain in Corsica.
“And most terribly has she carried out her purpose so far, for already nearly 300 Frenchmen have perished upon the weapons of her band, and fourteen French officers have met their deaths at her own hands.