"My father is Mateo Falcone!" he said with emphasis.

"Do you know, you little scamp, that I can take you to Corte or to Bastia? I'll make you sleep in a dungeon, on straw, with irons on your feet, and I'll have you guillotined, if you don't tell me where Gianetto Sanpiero is."

The child laughed heartily at this absurd threat.

"My father's Mateo Falcone," he repeated.

"Adjutant," said one of the voltigeurs in an undertone, "let us not get into a row with Mateo."

Gamba was evidently perplexed. He talked in a low tone with his soldiers, who had already searched the whole house. It was not a very long operation, for a Corsican's cabin consists of a single quare room. The furniture consists of a table, benches, chests, and household and hunting implements. Meanwhile little Fortunato patted his cat, and seemed to derive a wicked enjoyment from the embarrassment of the voltigeurs and his cousin.

A soldier approached the haystack. He saw the cat and thrust his bayonet carelessly into the hay, shrugging his shoulders, as if he realized that it was an absurd precaution. Nothing stirred; and the child's face did not betray the slightest excitement.

The adjutant and his squad were at their wit's end; they were already glancing meaningly toward the plain, as if proposing to return whence they came, when their leader, convinced that threats would have no effect on Falcone's son, determined to make one last effort, and to try the power of caresses and gifts.

"You seem to be a very wide-awake youngster, cousin," said he. "You will go far. But you are playing a low game with me; and if I wasn't afraid of distressing my cousin Mateo, deuce take me if I wouldn't carry you off with me!" "Bah!"

"But, when my cousin returns, I'll tell him the story, and he'll give you the lash

"You will see. But, I say, be a good boy, and I'll give you something."

"And I'll give you a piece of advice, cousin if you stay here any longer, Gianetto will be in the maquis, and then it will take more than one fox like you to catch him."

The adjutant took a silver watch from his pocket, worth perhaps thirty francs; and observing that little Fortunato's eyes sparkled as he looked at it, he said, holding it up at the end of its steel chain:

"Rascal! you'd like to have a watch like this hanging round your neck, and you'd stroll through the streets of Porto Vecchio, as proud as a peacock; and people would ask you: 'What time is it?' and you'd say: 'Look at my watch!"'"

"When I'm big, my uncle the caporal will give me a watch."

"Yes; but your uncle's son has got one now-not such a fine one as this, to be sure. Still, he's younger than you." The child sighed.

"Well! would you like this watch, my little cousin?"

Fortunato, with his eyes fixed on the watch, resembled a cat to which a whole chicken is presented. As the beast feels sure that he is being made a fool of, he darcs not touch it with his claws, and he turns his eyes away from time to time to avoid the risk of yielding to temptation; but licks his chops every instant, and seems to say to his master: "What a cruel joke this is!"

But Adjutant Gamba seemed to be in earnest in his offer of the watch. Fortunato did not put out his hand; but he Isaid with a bitter smile:

"Why do you make sport of me?"

"By God! I am not joking. Just tell me where Gianetto is, and this watch is yours."

Fortunato smiled an incredulous smile; and, fastening his black eyes on the adjutant's, he strove to read therein how far he should put faith in his words.

"May I lose my epaulets," cried the

adjutant, "if I don't give you the watch. on that condition! My comrades are witnesses; and I can't go back on my word."

As he spoke, he held the watch nearer and nearer, so that it almost touched the child's pale cheek. His face betrayed the battle that was taking place in his mind. between covetousness and respect for the duties of hospitality. His bare breast rose and fell violently, and he seemed on the point of suffocation. Meanwhile the watch swung to and fro, turned, and sometimes touched the end of his nose. At last, by slow degrees, his right hand rose toward the watch; the ends of his fingers touched it; and he felt the full weight of it on his hand, but still the adjutant did not let go the end of the chain. The face was sky-blue, the case newly polished-in the sun it shone like fire. The temptation was too great.

Fortunato raised his left hand, too, and pointed with his thumb, over his left shoulder, to the haystack against which he was leaning. The adjutant understood him instantly. He let go the end of the chain; Fortunato realized that he was the sole possessor of the watch. He sprang up with the agility of a stag, and ran some yards away from the haystack, which the voltigeurs began at once to demolish.

They soon saw the hay begin to move; and a man covered with blood came forth, dagger in hand; but when he tried to raise himself, his stiffened wound prevented him from standing erect. He fell. The adjutant threw himself upon him and tore his stiletto from his hand. In a trice he was securely bound, despite his resistance.

Gianetto, lying on the ground and corded like a bundle of sticks, turned his head toward Fortunato, who had drawn

movement. He said to the adjutant, as coolly as possible:

"I can't walk, my dear Gamba; you will have to carry me to the town.'

"You ran faster than a kid just now," retorted the cruel victor; "but never fear; I am so pleased to have caught you, that I would carry you on my back a whole league without getting tired. However, my boy, we'll make a litter for you with some branches and your cloak; and we shall find horses at Crespoli's farm."

"Good," said the prisoner; "just put a little straw on your litter, too, so that I can be more comfortable."

While the voltigeurs busied themselves, some in making a sort of litter with chestnut branches, others in dressing Gianetto's wound, Mateo Falcone and his wife suddenly appeared at a bend in the path leading to the maquis. The woman was stooping painfully beneath the weight of an enormous bag of chestnuts, while her husband sauntered along, carrying nothing save one rifle in his hand and another slung over his shoulder; for it is unworthy of a man to carry any other burden than his weapons.

At sight of the soldiers, Mateo's first thought was that they had come to arrest him. But why that thought? Had Mateo any difficulties to adjust with the authorities? No. He enjoyed an excellent reputation. He was, as they say, a person of good fame; but he was a Corsican and a mountaineer; and there are few Corsican mountaineers who, by carefully searching their memory, cannot find some trifling peccadillo-such as a rifle shot, a dagger thrust, or other bagatelle. Mateo's conscience was clearer than most, for he had not aimed his rifle at a man for more than ten years; but he was prudent none the less, and he placed himself in a position to make a stout defence, if need be.

"Wife," he said to Giuseppa, "put down your bag and be ready.'

She instantly obeyed. He gave her the gun that he carried slung over his shoulder, which might be in his way.

pons.

The adjutant, on the other hand, was greatly disturbed to see Mateo advance thus with measured steps, with rifle raised and finger on trigger.

"If by any chance," he thought, "Mateo proves to be related to Gianetto, or if he is his friend and should take it into his head to defend him, the charges of his two rifles would reach two of us, as sure as a letter reaches its address; and suppose he should draw a bead on me, notwithstanding our relationship!"

In his perplexity he adopted an extremely courageous course he went forward alone toward Mateo, to tell him. what had happened, accosting him as an old acquaintance; but the short distance that separated them seemed to him terribly long.

"Hallo! my old comrade," he cried; "how goes it, old fellow? It's me, Gamba, your cousin."

Mateo, without a word in reply, halted, and as the other spoke he raised the barrel of his gun slowly, so that it was pointed at the sky when the adjutant met him.

"Good-day, brother," said the adjutant, "it's a long while since I saw you." "Good-day, brother."

"I looked in to say good-day to you and Cousin Pepa as I passed. We have had a long jaunt today; but we ought not to complain of fatigue, as we have made a famous capture. We have caught Gianetto Sanpiero."

"God be praised!" cried Giuseppa. "He stole a milch goat from us last week."

Those words made Gamba's heart glad.

"The rascal defended himself like a lion," continued the adjutant, slightly mortified; "he killed one of my men, and, not content with that, he broke Corporal Chardon's arm; but there's no great harm done; he was only a Frenchman. After that, he hid himself so completely that the devil himself couldn't have found him. If it hadn't been for litmy tle cousin, Fortunato, I could never have unearthed him."

"Fortunato!" cried Mateo.

"Fortunato!" echoed Giuseppa.

"Yes, Gianetto was hidden under the haystack yonder; but my little cousin showed me the trick. And I'll tell his uncle the caporal, so that he'll send him a handsome present for his trouble. his name and yours will be in the report I shall send the advocate-general."

And

"Malediction!" muttered Mateo. They had joined the squad. Gianetto was already lying on the litter, ready to start. When he saw Mateo with Gamba, he smiled a strange smile; then, turning towards the door of the house, he spat on the threshold, saying:

"House of a traitor!"

Only a man who had made up his mind to die would have dared to utter the word traitor as applying to Falcone. A | quick thrust of the stiletto, which would not have needed to be repeated, would have paid for the insult instantly. But Mateo made no other movement than to put his hand to his forehead, like a man utterly crushed.

Fortunato had gone into the house when he saw his father coming. He soon reappeared with a mug of milk, which he handed to Gianetto with downcast eyes.

"Away from me!" shouted the outlaw in a voice of thunder. Then, turning to one of the voltigeurs, "Comrade," he said, "Give me a drink."

The soldier placed his gourd in his hands, and the outlaw drank the water given him by a man with whom he had recently exchanged rifle shots. Then he asked that his hands might be bound so

that they would be folded on his breast, instead of behind his back.

"I like to lie comfortably," he said. They readily gratified him; then the adjutant gave the signal for departure, bade adieu to Mateo, who made no reply, and marched down at a rapid pace towards the plain.

Nearly ten minutes passed before Mateo opened his mouth. The child glanced uneasily, now at his mother and now at his father, who, leaning upon his gun, gazed at him with an expression of intense wrath.

"You begin well!" said Mateo at last, in a voice which, although calm, was terrifying to one who knew the

"Well, this child is the first of his race that ever did an act of treachery."

Fortunato's sobs and hiccoughs redoubled in force, and Falcone still kept his lynx-eyes fastened on him. At last he struck the butt of his gun on the ground, then threw it over his shoulder again and started back toward the maquis, calling to Fortunato to follow him. The child obeyed.

"He is your son," she said in a trembling voice, fixing her black eyes on her husband's, as if to read what was taking place in his mind.

"Let me alone," replied Mateo, “I am his father."

Giuseppa embraced her son and entered her cabin, weeping. She fell on her knees before an image of the Virgin and prayed fervently. Meanwhile Falcone walked some two hundred yards along the path, and did not stop until they reached a narrow ravine into which he descended. He sounded the earth with the butt of his rifle, and found it soft and easy to dig. It seemed to him a suitable spot for his design.

"Fortunato, go and stand by that big

stone."

The child did what he ordered, then knelt.

"Say your prayers."

"Father, father, don't kill me!" "Say your prayers!" Mateo repeated, in a terrible voice.

The child, stammering and sobbing, repeated the Pater and the Credo. The father, in a loud voice, said Amen! at the end of each prayer.

"Are those all the prayers you know?" "I know the Ave Maria, too, father, and the litany my aunt taught me." "That's very long, but no matter." The child finished the litany in a feeble voice.

"Have you finished?"

"Oh, father! mercy! forgive me! I won't do it again! I will pray so hard to my uncle the caporal that he'll forgive Gianetto!"

He continued to speak; Mateo had cocked his gun, and he took aim at him, saying:

"May God forgive you!"

The child made a desperate effort to rise and grasp his father's knees; but he had not time. Mateo fired, and Fortunato fell stark dead.

who was running after them, terrified by the report.

"What have you done?" she cried. "Justice."

"Where is he?"

"In the ravine. I am going to bury him. He died the death of a Christian; I will have a mass sung for him. Send word to my son-in-law Tiodoro Bianchi to come and live with us."

CHAPTER I

WE WERE stationed in the little town of N——. The life of an officer in the army is well known. In the morning, drill and the riding-school; dinner with the Colonel or at a Jewish restaurant; in the evening, punch and cards. In Nthere was not one open house, not a single marriageable girl. We used to meet in each other's rooms, where, except our uniforms, we never saw anything.

One civilian only was admitted into our society. He was about thirty-five years of age, and therefore we looked upon him as an old fellow. His experience gave him great advantage over us, and his habitual taciturnity, stern disposition, and caustic tongue produced a deep impression upon our young minds. Some mystery surrounded his existence; he had the appearance of a Russian, although his name was a foreign one. He had formerly served in the Hussars, and with distinction. Nobody knew the cause that had induced him to retire from the service and settle in a wretched little village, where he lived poorly and, at the same time, extravagantly. He always went on

1From Pushkin's Prose Tales translated by T. Keane. Published by G. Bell and Sons, London. Reprinted by permission.

foot, and constantly wore a shabby black overcoat, but the officers of our regiment were ever welcome at his table. His dinners, it is true, never consisted of more than two or three dishes, prepared by a retired soldier, but the champagne flowed like water. Nobody knew what his circumstances were, or what his income was, and nobody dared to question him about them. He had a collection of books, consisting chiefly of works on military matters and a few novels. He willasked for them back; on the other hand, ingly lent them to us to read, and never

he never returned to the owner the books that were lent to him. His principal The walls of his room were riddled with amusement was shooting with a pistol. bullets, and were as full of holes as a honeycomb. A rich collection of pistols was the only luxury in the humble cottage where he lived. The skill which he had acquired with his favorite weapon was simply incredible; and if he had offered to shoot a pear off somebody's would have hesitated to place the object forage-cap, not a man in our regiment upon his head.

Our conversation often turned upon duels. Silvio-so I will call him-never joined in it. When asked if he had ever fought, he dryly replied that he had; but