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"Going away, Miss Nevil! Don't say that word yet!" "What are we to do? My father can not spend his whole life shooting. He wants to go." Orso's hand, which had been touching Miss Lydia's, dropped away, and there was silence for a moment. "Nonsense!" said Colomba. "We won't let you go yet. We have plenty of things to show you still at Pietranera.
"Holy Madonna!" and he poured out a string of imprecations, numberless, endless, and most of them quite untranslatable. "What can be the matter?" inquired Colomba. They all drew near to the horse, and at the sight of the creature's bleeding head and split ear there was a general outcry of surprise and indignation.
Colomba turned her back on him, and went slowly into the house, humming some meaningless lines out of a ballata: "I must have the hand that fired, the eye that aimed, the heart that planned." While the farmer's wife ran to attend on the old man, Colomba, with blazing eyes and brilliant cheeks, sat down to luncheon opposite the colonel. "What's the matter with you?" he said.
In his charming romance, "Colomba," M. Prosper Mérimée has depicted the typical Corsican, even of the towns, as preoccupied, gloomy, suspicious, ever on the alert, hovering about his dwelling, like a falcon over his nest, seemingly in preparation for attack or defence.
Now I read with the children Sans Famille and Colomba; and they acquire the language with incredible rapidity. I tell them any word they do not know; and we have a simple system of emulation, by which the one who recollects first a word we have previously had, receives a mark; and the one who first reaches a total of a hundred marks gets sixpence. The adorable nature of women!
And then I I wanted to make sure for myself. Alas! how uncomfortable you are here!" Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She raised him carefully so that his head might rest on her lap. She put her arms round his neck and signed to Miss Lydia to come near him. "Closer! closer!" she said. "A sick man mustn't talk too loud."
Miss Nevil squeezed her arm, and answered nothing. "Doesn't my brother deserve to be loved?" whispered Colomba in her ear. "Don't you love him a little?" "Oh, Colomba!" answered Miss Nevil, smiling in spite of her blushes, "you've betrayed me! And I trusted you so!" Colomba slipped her arm round her, and kissed her forehead. "Little sister," she whispered very low, "will you forgive me?"
On the same spot she found Miss Nevil, who had fallen among the soldiers, and, being half dead with terror, did nothing but sob in answer to their questions as to the number of the bandits, and the direction in which they had gone. Colomba threw herself into her arms and whispered in her ear, "They are safe!"
"Vengeance! Vengeance!" exclaimed several voices. Stones were thrown, and two shots, fired at the windows of the room in which Colomba and her guests were sitting, pierced the outside shutters, and carried splinters of wood on to the table at which the two ladies were working.
Now that every one is asleep the beautiful Colomba, the colonel, and his daughter I will seize the opportunity to acquaint my reader with certain details of which he must not be ignorant, if he desires to follow the further course of this veracious history. He is already aware that Colonel della Rebbia, Orso's father, had been assassinated.
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