This, of course, was all very well and highly interesting; no one could have looked at and listened to so lovely a creature unmoved as she descanted in feeling language upon the wrongs from which the Corsicans had suffered so greatly at the hands of the French; but, to tell the truth, I felt just then too weak to take more than a languid interest in the subject, it was too exciting for me in my invalid condition, besides which, I perceived that the theme was a painful one to my companion; I therefore gradually drew the conversation into a lighter channel, and we were soon deep in the discussion of poetry, music, and painting, subjects in which we both seemed to be equally interested, and our enthusiasm upon which speedily broke down the slight barrier of reserve which had interposed itself between us at the commencement of the interview. The result was that when that objectionable old party, Maria, came to announce the arrival of the moment when a return to my own room was judged advisable, she found us both comfortably established upon the same lounge, sitting very close to each other, and deep in the beauties of a portfolio of choice engravings which rested upon our knees; moreover, we had grown so confidential that by mutual agreement our usual formal style of address had been discarded, my young hostess promising to call me “Ralph,” if I would address her as “Francesca.”
From this date my progress toward perfect recovery was rapid. A few days more were passed in Francesca’s boudoir, in the enjoyment of her delightful society, and then came the happy moment when supported by her arm, I was able to move slowly and for short distances about the superbly laid-out grounds of the chateau. These delightful walks, which became more extended every day, naturally resulted in the establishment of still more intimate relations between us, and in a very short time each knew all about the past history and the future prospects of the other. The latter were eminently satisfactory on both sides, for, with all the assurance of a boy and a midshipman, I speedily announced my intention of winning my post rank in the shortest possible amount of time, chiefly as a desirable preliminary to my return to Corsica for the purpose of claiming the lovely Francesca’s hand in marriage.
The sweet girl laughed heartily at me, at first; though younger than myself, she was more of a woman than I was of a man, and she assumed with me a great many of the airs of a senior; but upon my vehement and repeated protestations of the seriousness and permanent nature of my intentions, her laughter ceased, she became embarrassed and agitated, and finally, after much pressing, assured me, her face crimsoned with blushes the while, that if I ever came to claim her, she would be mine.
Now I am quite aware that my conduct in this respect was wrong. I was too young, and my prospects were far too vague at that time, to justify me in speaking of love to any woman, besides which, in so unceremoniously laying siege to the beautiful Francesca’s susceptible heart, I might, for all that I could tell, be seriously interfering with the count’s plans for his daughter’s future. But at the time neither of us thought anything of this, or of any thing or being but ourselves; we were perfectly content with the state of things as they were, happy in the present, and quite agreed as to the future, to which, however, neither of us gave a single serious thought. I do not think Francesca was to blame in the matter, she had never had a mother to teach her prudence, but I certainly acted very wrongly, for, though little more than a boy, I was old enough to know better.
I offer no excuse for my conduct, it was quite inexcusable, but as I am telling the story of my life, I feel that I should not be dealing fairly with my readers did I attempt to pass over my faults and misdeeds in silence.
A day or two more passed swiftly away, I was rapidly regaining strength, my fractured arm-bone had knit itself firmly together again—though of course it was still quite useless, the splints not having been removed, and the use of a sling promising to remain a necessity for some little time longer—and I was revolving seriously in my mind the question of what would be the best course to pursue in order to rejoin my ship, when a little incident occurred which immediately diverted my thoughts in an entirely different direction.
Francesca and I were sauntering slowly down the broad tree-bordered drive which led from the main road to the chateau, when a man passed us. Francesca stopped him, to ask a question or two, and to give him some directions, and I thus got a full view of his features for perhaps quite three minutes. To my intense surprise I recognised in him the individual who had betrayed me to the French troops, and who had without doubt betrayed them in turn to Bell’ Demonio’s guerilla band; in a word, it was Guiseppe.
When our eyes met for the first time I saw in a moment that he not only recognised me, but also that he was most anxious to know whether I recognised him. I had it on the tip of my tongue to tax him with his perfidy, and to threaten to denounce him; but there was a something in his glance which gave me the idea that he was meditating further treachery, and I instantly decided that the most effective means to defeat his plans, if he entertained any, would be to throw him off his guard, and watch keenly the course of events; I therefore assumed a calmness and indifference of demeanour which I certainly did not feel, and looked at him as though I had never seen him before.
Waiting until the fellow was well out of ear-shot, I asked Francesca whether he was one of the servants at the chateau.
“Well, no,” she replied, “he is not exactly that. He is merely a kind of hanger-on; his father died in our service, and this man was, in his younger days, one of our stable-boys, but he left us about a year ago to become a wood-cutter and charcoal-burner, and since then he just comes and goes when he likes, finding board and lodging when he requires it, and giving in return any trifling services that may be required of him.”