He produced cigarettes and the two smoked comfortably.
“Been at the War?” asked Hugh.
“Yes,” said the lad. “Verdun. I got wounded in the leg there. It still bothers me. Two of my brothers were killed. There’s not a family here but lost some one. You know we Corsicans are brave. There were no braver men in the French army than our regiments. But they don’t like the Corsicans in France. The French generals sacrificed us.”
He shook his head sadly.
“Ah! poor Corsica. It is the forgotten island. So rich, yet so neglected. We are supposed to be savage, but there is no people so kindly. But we are poor, oh, so poor. Look at me. I have not a sou. And I will always be like this, poor, ragged, ignorant. It is hard.”
“What would you do if you had ... say three million francs?”
“Ah, monsieur, you jest. That is all the money in the world. Why, I would buy my old mother the cottage she lives in; then I would go to Paris and get an education. I would live like a fine gentleman. Ah! Paris. I was there once. What a time I had! I shall never forget it. Well, now I must catch some more fish for our supper this night.”
Hugh tried to give him a bill for five francs, but the lad drew back proudly.
“No, monsieur, we are a hospitable people. We do what little we can to make the stranger welcome. I thank you, but I can accept nothing.” He limped away in his rags and Hugh did not see him again.