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“Let us see now,” said he, “have you a highlander’s foot?”

“The foot, yes, but not the eye.”

“That is to say, you become giddy?”

“Yes, the empty space attracts me irresistibly.”

“Well, then, we can take this path which will not offer us any precipices,
but only some difficulties of footing.”

“Oh, as for that, I don’t care.”

“Then let us go on; this route will save us three quarters of an hour’s
walk.”

“Go on, then.”

Lucien entered first a small wood of green oaks, into which I followed him.
Diamante ran before us at a distance of about fifty or sixty yards, scouring the
woods on the right and left, and from time to time returning to the path, gaily
wagging his tail and gamboling about, seeming to assure us, that we could rely
with entire confidence on his sagacious instinct, and continue our journey in
safety. I saw that like the horses of those would-be fashionables, brokers in
the morning and lions in the evening, who use the same animal for the saddle and
the cab, Diamante was trained to hunt bipeds as well as quadrupeds, bandits and
bears.

In order not to appear entirely unacquainted with Corsican manners and
customs, I communicated my observation to Lucien.

“You are mistaken,” said he, “Diamante, it is true, hunts both man and beast;
it is not the bandit he pursues, but the triple breed of the gendarmes, the
voltigeur and the volunteer.”

“How,” exclaimed I, “Diamante is the dog of the bandit?”

“Just as you say. Diamante belonged formerly to an Orlandi, to whom I sent
from time to time, while he lived in the country, bread, powder, bullets and
some other necessaries of which a bandit is often in need. He was killed by a
Colonna, and the next day I received his dog, who, being in the habit of coming
to the house, soon became attached to me.”

“But it seems to me, that from my window, or rather the window of your
brother’s room, I have seen another dog, chained in the yard?”

“Yes, that is Brusco; he possesses the same qualities as this dog, only I got
him from a Colonna, killed by an Orlandi. Thus, whenever I go to see a Colonna I
take Brusco along, and when I visit an Orlandi, Diamante accompanies me. If by
any accident they should both become loose at the same time, they mould devour
each other. So you see, continued Lucien laughing bitterly, that men can
reconcile themselves to each other, make their peace, and go to the same
communion table, but dogs will never eat out of the same dish.”

“Well, truly,” replied I, laughing also, “these are two genuine Corsican
dogs. But it appears to me, that Diamante, like all modest beings, avoids
hearing his own praise, for since we have been speaking of him, he has entirely
disappeared.

“Oh! don’t be uneasy about that,” said Lucien, “I know where he is.”

“May I ask, where?”

“At the mucchio.”

“I was just going to hazard another question at the risk of tiring my
companion, when we heard a howling, so sad, so prolonged, and so lamentable,
that I started with a sudden thrill, and laid my hand on the young man’s arm.

“What is that?” demanded I.

“Nothing. It is Diamante making a lament.”

“And what is he mourning for?”

“His master. Do you think that dogs are like men, forgetful of those who have
once loved them?”

“Ah! I understand.”

Diamante here uttered another howl, longer, deeper and more melancholy than
the first.

“You have said,” continued I, “that his master was killed? we are then
approaching the spot'”

“Exactly, and Diamante has left us to go to the mucchio.”

“The mucchio, then, is the grave?”

“Yes sir, it is the, monument formed by stones and branches of trees, which
every passer by throws upon the grave of one who has been murdered. Thus,
instead of disappearing like other tombs under the hand of that great leveler
Time, the tomb of the victim grows continually, a symbol of that vengeance which
is to survive him and grow unceasingly in the hearts of his nearest relatives.”