stration is at
Ajaccio, that of the magistrature at Bastia; we two therefore belonged
to hostile parties. But when you are a long way from home and meet
someone from your native place, you forget all else, and talk of the old
country.

[Illustration: "I SET OUT IN FULL SHOOTING COSTUME."]

We were fast friends in less than no time, and were consoling each other
for being in "exile" as we termed it. The bottle of wine had loosened my
tongue, and I soon told him, in strict confidence, that I was looking
forward to going back to France to take up some good post as a reward
for my share in the capture of Quastana, whom we hoped to arrest at his
cousin's house one Sunday evening. When my companion got off the coach
at Porto-Vecchio, we felt as though we had known each other for years.

II.

I arrived at Solenzara between four and five o'clock. The place is
populated in winter by workmen, fishermen, and Customs officials, but in
summer everyone who can shifts his quarters up in the mountains on
account of fever. The village was, therefore, nearly deserted when I
reached it that Sunday afternoon.

I entered a small inn and had something to eat, while waiting for
Matteo. Time went on, and the fellow did not put in an appearance; the
innkeeper began to look at me suspiciously, and I felt rather
uncomfortable. At last there came a knock, and Matteo entered.

"He has come to my house," he said, raising his hand to his hat. "Will
you follow me there?"

We went outside. It was very dark and windy; we stumbled along a stony
path for about three miles--a narrow path, full of small stones and
overgrown with luxuriant vegetation, which prevented us from going
quickly.

[Illustration: "'THAT'S MY HOUSE,' SAID MATTEO."]

"That's my house," said Matteo, pointing among the bushes to a light
which was flickering at a short distance from us.

A minute later we were confronted by a big dog, who barked furiously at
us. One would have imagined that he meant to stop us going farther along
the road.

"Here, Bruccio, Bruccio!" cried my guide; then, leaning towards me, he
said: "That's Quastana's dog. A ferocious animal. He has no equal for
keeping watch." Turning to the dog again, he called out: "That's all
right, old fellow! Do you take us for policemen?"

The enormous animal quieted down and came and sniffed around our legs.
It was a splendid Newfoundland dog, with a thick, white, woolly coat
which had obtained for him the name