The morning after his arrival at Marseilles he invited Captain Ellis—­his former adjutant, who had just been spending six weeks in Corsica—­to dine with him.  The captain told Miss Lydia a story about bandits, which had the advantage of bearing no resemblance to the robber tales with which she had been so frequently regaled, on the road between Naples and Rome, and he told it well.  At dessert, the two men, left alone over their claret, talked of hunting—­and the colonel learned that nowhere is there more excellent sport, or game more varied and abundant, than in Corsica.  “There are plenty of wild boars,” said Captain Ellis.  “And you have to learn to distinguish them from the domestic pigs, which are astonishingly like them.  For if you kill a pig, you find yourself in difficulties with the swine-herds.  They rush out of the thickets (which they call maquis) armed to the teeth, make you pay for their beasts, and laugh at you besides.  Then there is the mouflon, a strange animal, which you will not find anywhere else—­splendid game, but hard to get—­and stags, deer, pheasants, and partridges—­it would be impossible to enumerate all the kinds with which Corsica swarms.  If you want shooting, colonel, go to Corsica!  There, as one of my entertainers said to me, you can get a shot at every imaginable kind of game, from a thrush to a man!”

At tea, the captain once more delighted Lydia with the tale of a vendetta transversale (A vendetta in which vengeance falls on a more or less distant relation of the author of the original offence.), even more strange than his first story, and he thoroughly stirred her enthusiasm by his descriptions of the strange wild beauty of the country, the peculiarities of its inhabitants, and their primitive hospitality and customs.  Finally, he offered her a pretty little stiletto, less remarkable for its shape and copper mounting than for its origin.  A famous bandit had given it to Captain Ellis, and had assured him it had been buried in four human bodies.  Miss Lydia thrust it through her girdle, laid it on the table beside her bed, and unsheathed it twice over before she fell asleep.  Her father meanwhile was dreaming he had slain a mouflon, and that its owner insisted on his paying for it, a demand to which he gladly acceded, seeing it was a most curious creature, like a boar, with stag’s horns and a pheasant’s tail.

“Ellis tells me there’s splendid shooting in Corsica,” said the colonel, as he sat at breakfast, alone with his daughter.  “If it hadn’t been for the distance, I should like to spend a fortnight there.”

“Well,” replied Miss Lydia, “why shouldn’t we go to Corsica?  While you are hunting I can sketch—­I should love to have that grotto Captain Ellis talked about, where Napoleon used to go and study when he was a child, in my album.”