harm of
absolute freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to
insure respect," and he held up his gun, "we are kings of everything
within its range. We can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That's a
highly moral entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we
don't deny ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant's
life, when he has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote
had? Listen! The other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi's
uncle--old miser that he is--wouldn't give her a dowry. So I wrote to
him. I didn't use threats--that's not my way. Well, well, in one moment
the man was convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people
happy. Believe me, Orso, there's no life like the bandit's life! Pshaw!
You'd have joined us, perhaps, if it hadn't been for a certain young
Englishwoman whom I have scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty
every one in Bastia is talking."

"My future sister-in-law doesn't like the _maquis_," laughed Colomba.
"She got too great a fright in one of them."

"Well," said Orso, "you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me
whether there is anything I can do for you?"

"Nothing," said Brandolaccio. "You've heaped kindnesses upon us. Here's
little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there'll be no necessity
for my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure
her marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and
powder whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you
back in Corsica one of these days."

"In case of pressing need," said Orso, "a few gold coins are very
useful. Now we are such old friends, you won't refuse this little
_cartouche_.[*] It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind."

[*] _Cartouche_ means a collection of gold pieces as well as
a cartridge.

"No money between you and me, sir," said Brandolaccio resolutely.

"In the world money is everything," remarked Castriconi, "but in the
_maquis_, all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that
carries true."

"I don't want to leave you without giving you something to remember me
by," persisted Orso. "Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?"

The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso's gun.

"By my faith, if I dared--but no! you're too fond of it."

"What would you like?"

"Nothing! 'Tisn't anything at all. It's knowing how to use it as