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“Ah!” said he, “we are twenty minutes in advance. Sit down; you must be
tired.”

We sat down, or rather laid down on a declivity of green turf, opposite a
large breach.

“But,” resumed I, “it appears to me that is not the whole story.”

“No,” continued Lucien. “Every morning and evening Savilia came down to the
dungeon next to the one in which Guidice was confined, and there, separated by
an iron grate, showed herself to the prisoner. ‘Guidice,’ said she, tauntingly,
‘how could such an ugly man as you ever expect to possess these charms?’ This
torture continued for three months twice every day. But at the expiration of
this time, by the assistance of a chambermaid whom he had bribed, Guidice
succeeded in making his escape. He then returned with all his vassals, much more
numerous than those of Savilia, took the castle by storm, and made Savilia
prisoner. He exposed her in a large iron cage, at a crossway in the forest of
Bocca di Cilaccia, offering the key of this cage to every passer by who might be
tempted by her beauty. On the evening of the third day of this public exposure,
Savilia was found dead.”

“It strikes me that your ancestors understood the practice of vengeance
tolerably well, and their offspring, killing each other merely with a gun or
dagger, have no doubt somewhat degenerated.”

“That is not the worst; but you will see the time when they will no longer
kill each other. But, at least,” continued the young man, “all that did not pass
so smoothly in our family. The two sons of Savilia, who lived at Ajaccio, under
the care of her uncle, had been educated as true Corsicans, and continued to
make violent war against the sons of Guidice. This war continued during four
centuries, and was finished only as you have seen on the carabines of my father
and mother, of the 21st of September, 1819, at eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“I remember, indeed, to have seen this inscription, of which you have not
given me any explanation; for when I was on the point of asking you about it we
were summoned to supper.”

“I will tell you now. In 1819, there remained of the whole Guidice family
only two brothers; and of the Franchis, there was left my father, who had
married his cousin. Three months after their marriage the Guidices resolved to
finish with us all at once. One of the brothers placed himself in ambush on the
road to Olmeto, intending to intercept my father, who had gone to Sartene, while
the other, taking advantage of his absence, was to attack our house. These plans
were executed, but the result was very different from what the aggressors had
expected. My father, informed in time of their designs, was on his guard, while
my mother, also apprised of their premeditated attack, assembled our shepherds,
so that when the double attack began, all was ready for their reception; my
father in the mountains, and my mother in my very room. After a short fight the
two brothers Guidice fell, one killed by my father, the other shot by my
mother’s own hand. When he saw his enemy fall, my father took out his match; it
was eleven o’clock! At the same time my mother, having destroyed her adversary,
turned round to the clock; it was eleven o’clock! Their enemies had been cut off
in the same moment. There was not a Guidice in existence. The race was extinct.
The Franchi family, victorious, was hence undisturbed, and as they had bravely
done their duty through four centuries, they took no part in new quarrels. My
father got the date and hour of this strange occurrence engraved on the stocks
of the two carabines that had served on the occasion, and put them up alongside
of the clock, where you have seen them. Seven months after my mother gave birth
to two twins, one of which is your humble servant Lucien the Corsican, and the
other his brother Louis the philanthropist.”

At this moment, on that part of the platform illuminated by the moon, I saw
the shadows of a man and a dog approaching. It was the bandit Orlandini, and our
friend Diamante.