It was the first time, probably, that any wish expressed by the colonel had won his daughter’s approbation.  Delighted as he was by the unexpected harmony on their opinions, he was nevertheless wise enough to put forward various objections, calculated to sharpen Miss Lydia’s welcome whim.  In vain did he dwell on the wildness of the country, and the difficulties of travel there for a lady.  Nothing frightened her; she liked travelling on horseback of all things; she delighted in the idea of bivouacking in the open; she even threatened to go as far as Asia Minor—­in short, she found an answer to everything.  No Englishwoman had ever been to Corsica; therefore she must go.  What a pleasure it would be, when she got back to St. James’s Place, to exhibit her album!  “But, my dear creature, why do you pass over that delightful drawing?” “That’s only a trifle—­just a sketch I made of a famous Corsican bandit who was our guide.”  “What! you don’t mean to say you have been to Corsica?”

As there were no steamboats between France and Corsica, in those days, inquiries were made for some ship about to sail for the island Miss Lydia proposed to discover.  That very day the colonel wrote to Paris, to countermand his order for the suite of apartments in which he was to have made some stay, and bargained with the skipper of a Corsican schooner, just about to set sail for Ajaccio, for two poor cabins, but the best that could be had.  Provisions were sent on board, the skipper swore that one of his sailors was an excellent cook, and had not his equal for bouilleabaisse; he promised mademoiselle should be comfortable, and have a fair wind and a calm sea.

The colonel further stipulated, in obedience to his daughter’s wishes, that no other passenger should be taken on board, and that the captain should skirt the coast of the island, so that Miss Lydia might enjoy the view of the mountains.

CHAPTER II

On the day of their departure everything was packed and sent on board early in the morning.  The schooner was to sail with the evening breeze.  Meanwhile, as the colonel and his daughter were walking on the Canebiere, the skipper addressed them, and craved permission to take on board one of his relations, his eldest son’s godfather’s second cousin, who was going back to Corsica, his native country, on important business, and could not find any ship to take him over.

“He’s a charming fellow,” added Captain Mattei, “a soldier, an officer in the Infantry of the Guard, and would have been a colonel already if the other (meaning Napoleon) had still been emperor!”

“As he is a soldier,” began the colonel—­he was about to add, “I shall be very glad he should come with us,” when Miss Lydia exclaimed in English: 

“An infantry officer!” (Her father had been in the cavalry, and she consequently looked down on every other branch of the service.) “An uneducated man, very likely, who would be sea-sick, and spoil all the pleasure of our trip!”