They got to Longosardo.  The Corsican woman walked with a limp.  She went to a baker’s shop and asked for Nicolas Ravolati.  He had taken up his old trade, that of carpenter.  He was working alone at the back of his store.

The old woman opened the door and called: 

“Hallo, Nicolas!”

He turned around.  Then releasing her dog, she cried: 

“Go, go!  Eat him up! eat him up!”

The maddened animal sprang for his throat.  The man stretched out his arms, clasped the dog and rolled to the ground.  For a few seconds he squirmed, beating the ground with his feet.  Then he stopped moving, while Semillante dug her fangs into his throat and tore it to ribbons.  Two neighbors, seated before their door, remembered perfectly having seen an old beggar come out with a thin, black dog which was eating something that its master was giving him.

At nightfall the old woman was at home again.  She slept well that night.

MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS

I had just taken possession of my room in the hotel, a narrow den between two papered partitions, through which I could hear every sound made by my neighbors; and I was beginning to arrange my clothes and linen in the wardrobe with a long mirror, when I opened the drawer which is in this piece of furniture.  I immediately noticed a roll of paper.  Having opened it, I spread it out before me, and read this title: 

          My Twenty-five Days.

It was the diary of a guest at the watering place, of the last occupant of my room, and had been forgotten at the moment of departure.

These notes may be of some interest to sensible and healthy persons who never leave their own homes.  It is for their benefit that I transcribe them without altering a letter.

“Chatel-Guyon, July 15th.

“At the first glance it is not lively, this country.  However, I am going to spend twenty-five days here, to have my liver and stomach treated, and to get thin.  The twenty-five days of any one taking the baths are very like the twenty-eight days of the reserves; they are all devoted to fatigue duty, severe fatigue duty.  To-day I have done nothing as yet; I have been getting settled.  I have made the acquaintance of the locality and of the doctor.  Chatel-Guyon consists of a stream in which flows yellow water, in the midst of several hillocks on which are a casino, some houses, and some stone crosses.  On the bank of the stream, at the end of the valley, may be seen a square building surrounded by a little garden; this is the bathing establishment.  Sad people wander around this building—­the invalids.  A great silence reigns in the walks shaded by trees, for this is not a pleasure resort, but a true health resort; one takes care of one’s health as a business, and one gets well, so it seems.

“Those who know affirm, even, that the mineral springs perform true miracles here.  However, no votive offering is hung around the cashier’s office.