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Lucien put the pheasant in the wide pocket of his velvet jacket.

“Now, my dear Orlandini,” continued he, “till to-morrow! I know your
punctuality! At 10 o’clock you will be at the extremity of the street, with your
friends and relations from the hillside; at the same time, on the opposite side
of the street, Colonna, on his part, will arrive with his relations and friends.
As for us, you will see us on the steps of the church.”

“All right, Signor Lucien—thank you for the trouble; and to you, sir,”
continued Orlandini, turning to me and bowing, “thank you for the honor.”

After this exchange of compliments, we separated; Orlandini disappeared in
the thicket, and we took the road to the village.

As for Diamante, he seemed for some moments undecided between Orlandini and
ourselves; he looked alternately to the right and left, but after some
hesitation favored us with the preference.

I confess that when I ascended these steep, wild rocks, I had felt some
uneasiness about the way of getting down again, for it is a well known fact that
it is much easier to ascend than to descend. I saw, therefore, with pleasure,
Lucien taking another road, he probably guessing my apprehensions on the
subject.

This road afforded me the additional enjoyment of conversation, which in all
steep and difficult places must naturally be interrupted. Here, the declivity
being gradual and the road easy, we had not proceeded more than fifty steps when
I recommenced my interrogatories.

“Then peace is concluded now?”

“Yes; but as you have seen, not without difficulty. I have convinced him that
all advances have been made by the Colonna. First, they have had five persons
killed, while the Colonna have had only four men sacrificed. The Colonna had
already yesterday consented to the reconciliation, while the Orlandini have
given theirs only to-day. Lastly, the Colonna have engaged themselves to return,
publicly, a living hen, to the Orlandini; a concession which is a proof that
they acknowledge themselves to have been in the wrong. This last consideration
decided him.”

“And this interesting reconciliation is to take place to-morrow?”

“At ten o’clock. You see you have not been so unlucky after all. You hoped to
see a vendetta? Rah! what would that have been? For four hundred years there has
been nothing else spoken of in Corsica, but a reconciliation! That’s much more
extraordinary!”

I could not help smiling.

“You laugh at us now,” continued he; “well, you are right—we are, in fact, a
curious people.”

“No,” said I, “I laugh only at the inconsistency of seeing you so furious
against yourself, for having been successful.”

“Ah, sir! if you had been able to understand me, you would have admired my
eloquence. But call again in ten years, and every body will speak French here.”

“You are an excellent lawyer.”

“No, no—understand me! I am only an arbiter. How can I help it? Is it not
the duty of an arbiter to reconcile? If I were appointed arbiter between God and
Satan, I should certainly try to reconcile them; but in the depths of my heart I
should think it very foolish for God to listen to me.”

Seeing that this topic of conversation had no other effect than to irritate
my companion, I remained silent, and as he did not resume it, we reached home
without exchanging another word.

CHAPTER VI

Griffo was waiting for us. Even before his master spoke to him, he began to
search the pocket of his jacket, and drew out the pheasant. He had heard and
recognized the report of his gun.

Madame de Franchi was not yet asleep, she had only retired to her room,
leaving orders with Griffo, to request her son to call upon her before going to
bed.

The young man inquired if I wanted any thing, and upon my answering in the
negative, asked my leave to wait on his mother.

I gave him that permission with great pleasure, and retired to my own room. I
entered with a certain pride. My studies on analogies had not misled me, and I
was glad to have so correctly guessed the character of Louis, as I should also
have divined that of Lucien. I undressed slowly, and after having chosen from
the future lawyer’s library, the “Orientales,” by Victor Hugo, I laid down
filled with self-satisfaction.