but also the mysterious flat Pianosa, so rarely seen, so capricious and
singular in its comings and goings that it fades from sight before the
very eyes, and in clear weather seems to lie like a raft on the still
water.

The colonel was contemplating the scene with a leisurely, artistic eye,
when some instinct made him turn his head and look over his shoulder
towards the north.

"Ah!" he muttered, with a nod of satisfaction.

A steamer was slowly pounding down towards Bastia. It was the Marseilles
boat--the old _Perseverance._ And for Colonel Gilbert she was sure to
bring news from France, possibly some one with whom to while away an hour
or so in talk. He rode more leisurely now, and the steamer passed him. By
the time he reached the dried-fruit factory on the northern outskirt of
the town, the _Perseverance_ had rounded the pier-head, and was gently
edging alongside the quay. By the time he reached the harbour she was
moored, and her captain enjoying a morning cigar on the wharf.

Of course Colonel Gilbert knew the captain of the _Perseverance._ Was he
not friendly with the driver of the St. Florent diligence? All who
brought news from the outside world were the friends of this idle
soldier.

"Good morning, captain," he cried. "What news of France?"

The captain was a jovial man, with unkempt hair and a smoke-grimed face.

"News, colonel," he answered. "It is not quite ready yet. The emperor is