bullet passed through my chest. That was a splendid battalion, M. della
Rebbia, that first battalion of the Eighteenth--all of them Corsicans,
as I was afterward told!"

"Yes," said Orso, whose eyes had shone as he listened to the story.
"They covered the retreat, and brought back their eagle. Two thirds of
those brave fellows are sleeping now on the plains of Vittoria!"

"And, perhaps, you can tell me the name of the officer in command?"

"It was my father--he was then a major in the Eighteenth, and was
promoted colonel for his conduct on that terrible day."

"Your father! Upon my word, he was a brave man! I should be glad to see
him again, and I am certain I should recognise him. Is he still alive?"

"No, colonel," said the young man, turning slightly pale.

"Was he at Waterloo?"

"Yes, colonel; but he had not the happiness of dying on the field of
battle. He died in Corsica two years ago. How beautiful the sea is! It
is ten years since I have seen the Mediterranean! Don't you think the
Mediterranean much more beautiful than the ocean, mademoiselle?"

"I think it too blue, and its waves lack grandeur."

"You like wild beauty then, mademoiselle! In that case, I am sure you
will be delighted with Corsica."