CHAPTER X
Orso had been parted from his father at so early an age that he hadscarcely had time to know him. He had left Pietranera to pursue hisstudies at Pisa when he was only fifteen. Thence he had passed into themilitary school, and Ghilfuccio, meanwhile, was bearing the ImperialEagles all over Europe. On the mainland, Orso only saw his father atrare intervals, and it was not until 1815 that he found himself inthe regiment he commanded. But the colonel, who was an inflexibledisciplinarian, treated his son just like any other sub-lieutenant--inother words, with great severity. Orso's memories of him were of twokinds: He recollected him, at Pietranera, as the father who would trusthim with his sword, and would let him fire off his gun when he camein from a shooting expedition, or who made him sit down, for thefirst time, tiny urchin as he was, at the family dinner-table. Then heremembered the Colonel della Rebbia who would put him under arrest forsome blunder, and who never called him anything but Lieutenant dellaRebbia.
"Lieutenant della Rebbia, you are not in your right place on parade. Youwill be confined to barracks three days."
"Your skirmishers are five yards too far from your main body--five daysin barracks."
"It is five minutes past noon, and you are still in your forage-cap--aweek in barracks."
Only once, at Quatre-Bras, he had said to him, "Well done, Orso! But becautious!"
But, after all, these later memories were not connected in his mind withPietranera. The sight of the places so familiar to him in his childishdays, of the furniture he had seen used by his mother, to whom he hadbeen fondly attached, filled his soul with a host of tender and painfulemotions. Then the gloomy future that lay before him, the vague anxietyhe felt about his sister, and, above all other things, the thought thatMiss Nevil was coming to his house, which now struck him as being sosmall, so poor, so unsuited to a person accustomed to luxury--the ideathat she might possibly despise it--all these feelings made his brain achaos, and filled him with a sense of deep discouragement.
At supper he sat in the great oaken chair, blackened with age, in whichhis father had always presided at the head of the family table, and hesmiled when he saw that Colomba hesitated to sit down with him. But hewas grateful to her for her silence during the meal, and for her speedyretirement afterward. For he felt he was too deeply moved to be able toresist the attack she was no doubt preparing to make upon him. Colomba,however, was dealing warily with him, and meant to give him time tocollect himself. He sat for a long time motionless, with his head onhis hand, thinking over the scenes of the last fortnight of his life. Hesaw, with alarm, how every one seemed to be watching what would behis behaviour to the Barricini. Already he began to perceive that theopinion of Pietranera was beginning to be the opinion of all the worldto him. He would have to avenge himself, or be taken for a coward! Buton whom was he to take vengeance? He could not believe the Barricini tobe guilty of murder. They were his family enemies, certainly, but onlythe vulgar prejudice of his fellow-countrymen could accuse them of beingmurderers. Sometimes he would look at Miss Nevil's talisman, and whisperthe motto "Life is a battle!" over to himself. At last, in a resolutevoice, he said, "I will win it!" Strong in that thought, he rose to hisfeet, took up the lamp, and was just going up to his room, when he hearda knock at the door of the house. It was a very unusual hour for anyvisitor to appear. Colomba instantly made her appearance, followed bythe woman who acted as their servant.
"It's nothing!" she said, hurrying to the door.
Yet before she opened it she inquired who knocked. A gentle voiceanswered, "It is I."
Instantly the wooden bar across the door was withdrawn, and Colombareappeared in the dining-room, followed by a little ragged, bare-footedgirl of about ten years old, her head bound with a shabby kerchief,from which escaped long locks of hair, as black as the raven's wing. Thechild was thin and pale, her skin was sunburnt, but her eyes shone withintelligence. When she saw Orso she stopped shyly, and courtesiedto him, peasant fashion--then she said something in an undertone toColomba, and gave her a freshly killed pheasant.
"Thanks, Chili," said Colomba. "Thank your uncle for me. Is he well?"
"Very well, signorina, at your service. I couldn't come sooner becausehe was late. I waited for him in the _maquis_ for three hours."
"And you've had no supper?"
"Why no, signorina! I've not had time."
"You shall have some supper here. Has your uncle any bread left?"
"Very little, signorina. But what he is most short of is powder. Now thechestnuts are in, the only other thing he wants is powder."
"I will give you a loaf for him, and some powder, too. Tell him to useit sparingly--it is very dear."
"Colomba," said Orso in French, "on whom are you bestowing yourcharity?"
"On a poor bandit belonging to this village," replied Colomba in thesame language. "This little girl is his niece."
"It strikes me you might place your gifts better. Why should you sendpowder to a ruffian who will use it to commit crimes? But for thedeplorable weakness every one here seems to have for the bandits, theywould have disappeared out of Corsica long ago."
"The worst men in our country are not those who are 'in the country.'"
"Give them bread, if it so please you. But I will not have you supplythem with ammunition."
"Brother," said Colomba, in a serious voice, "you are master here, andeverything in this house belongs to you. But I warn you that I willgive this little girl my _mezzaro_, so that she may sell it; rather thanrefuse powder to a bandit. Refuse to give him powder! I might just aswell make him over to the gendarmes! What has he to protect him againstthem, except his cartridges?"
All this while the little girl was ravenously devouring a bit of bread,and carefully watching Colomba and her brother, turn about, trying toread the meaning of what they were saying in their eyes.
"And what has this bandit of yours done? What crime has driven him intothe _maquis_?"
"Brandolaccio has not committed any crime," exclaimed Colomba. "Hekilled Giovan' Oppizo, who murdered his father while he was away servingin the army!"
Orso turned away his head, took up the lamp, and, without a word,departed to his bedroom. Then Colomba gave the child food and gunpowder,and went with her as far as the house-door, saying over and over again:
"Mind your uncle takes good care of Orso!"