with his idle, easy smile. He seemed to stand aloof from his new
neighbours and their insular interests. He was, it appeared, a cultured
man, and perhaps found none in this wild island who could understand his
thoughts. His attitude towards his surroundings was, in a word, the usual
indifferent attitude of the Frenchman in exile, reading only French
newspapers, fixing his attention only on France, and awaiting with such
patience as he could command the moment to return thither.

"Any news?" asked one of the artillery officers--a sub-lieutenant
recently attached to his battery, a penniless possessor of an historic
name, who perhaps had dreams of carving his way through to the front
again.

The colonel shrugged his shoulders.

"You may have the papers afterwards," he said; for it was not wise to
discuss any news in a public place at that time. "See you at the Reunion,
no doubt."

And he did not speak again except to Clement, who came round to take the
opinion of each guest upon the fare provided.

"Passable," said the colonel--"passable, my good Clement. But do you
know, I could send you to prison for providing this excellent leveret at
this time of year. Are there no game laws, my friend?"

But Clement only laughed and spread out his hands, for Corsica chooses to
ignore the game laws. And the colonel, having finished his coffee,
buckled on his sword, and went out into the twilight streets of what was
once the capital of Corsica. Bastia, indeed, has, like the majority of