THE CORSICAN BROTHERS (Historical Novel). Alexandre Dumas

speak of this woman, who in the war of independence presented herself at the Tower of Sullacaro, accompanied by a young man?”

      “No, tell me the story.”

      “Oh, it is a very short one.”

      “So much the worse.”

      “Well, you see, we have not much time to talk now.”

      “I am all attention.”

      “Well, this woman and this young man presented themselves before the Tower of Sullacaro and requested to speak with Paoli; but as he was engaged writing, he declined to admit them; and then, as the woman insisted, the two sentinels repulsed her, when Paoli, who had heard the noise, opened the door and inquired the cause.”

      “ ‘It is I,’ said the woman; ‘I wish to speak to you.’

      “ ‘What have you to say to me?’

      “ ‘I have come to tell you that I have two sons. I heard yesterday that one had been killed for defending his country, and I have come twenty leagues to bring you the other!!!’ ”

      “You are relating an incident of Sparta,” I said.

      “Yes, it does appear very like it.”

      “And who was this woman?”

      “She was my ancestress.”

      “Paoli took off his sword and gave it to her.

      “ ‘Take it,’ he said, ‘I like time to make my excuses to woman.’ ”

      “She was worthy of both—is it not so?”

      “And now this sabre?”

      “That is the one Buonaparte carried at the battle of the Pyramids.”

      “No doubt it came into your family in the same manner as the poignard and the sword.”

      “Entirely. After the battle Buonaparte gave the order to my grandfather, who was an officer in the Guides, to charge with fifty men a number of Mamelukes who were at bay around a wounded chieftain. My grandfather dispersed the Mamelukes and took the chief back a prisoner to the First Consul. But when he wished to sheath his sword he found the blade had been so bent in his encounter with the Mamelukes that it would not go into the scabbard. My grandfather therefore threw sabre and sheath away as useless, and, seeing this, Buonaparte gave him his own.”

      “But,” I said, “in your place I would rather have had my grandfather’s sabre, all bent as it was, instead of that of the general’s, which was in good condition.”

      “Look before you and you will find it. The First Consul had it recovered, and caused that large diamond to be inserted in the hilt. He then sent it to my family with the inscription which you can read on the blade.”

      I advanced between the windows, where, hanging half-drawn from its scabbard, which it could not fully enter, I perceived the sabre bent and hacked, bearing the simple inscription—

      “Battle of the Pyramids, 21st of July, 1798.”

      At that moment the servant came to announce that supper was served.

      “Very well, Griffo,” replied the young man; “tell my mother that we are coming down.”

      As he spoke he came forth from the inner room, dressed, as he said, like a mountaineer; that is to say, with a round velvet coat, trowsers, and gaiters; of his other costume he had only retained his pouch.

      He found me occupied in examing two carbines hanging opposite each other, and both inscribed—

      “21st September, 1819: 11 A.M.”

      “Are these carbines also historical?” I asked.

      “Yes,” he answered. “For us, at least, they bear a historical significance. One was my father’s—”

      He hesitated.

      “And the other,” I suggested.

      “And the other,” he said, laughing, “is my mother’s. But let us go downstairs; my mother will be awaiting us.”

      Then passing in front of me to show me the way he courteously signed to me to follow him.