count at need on the poignards and carbines of his sons-in-law. The son
was only ten years old, but he already gave promise of fine attributes.

On a certain day in autumn, Mateo set out at an early hour with his wife
to visit one of his flocks in a clearing of the mâquis. The little
Fortunato wanted to go with them, but the clearing was too far away;
moreover, it was necessary some one should stay to watch the house;
therefore the father refused: it will be seen whether or not he had reason
to repent.

He had been gone some hours, and the little Fortunato was tranquilly
stretched out in the sun, looking at the blue mountains, and thinking that
the next Sunday he was going to dine in the city with his uncle, the
Caporal [Note: Civic Official], when he was suddenly interrupted in his
meditations by the firing of a musket. He got up and turned to that side of
the plain whence the noise came. Other shots followed, fired at irregular
intervals, and each time nearer; at last, in the path which led from the
plain to Mateo's house, appeared a man wearing the pointed hat of the
mountaineers, bearded, covered with rags, and dragging himself along with
difficulty by the support of his gun. He had just received a wound in his
thigh.

This man was an outlaw, who, having gone to the town by night to buy
powder, had fallen on the way into an ambuscade of Corsican
light-infantry. After a vigorous defense he was fortunate in making
his retreat, closely followed and firing from rock to rock. But he
was only a little in advance of the soldiers, and his wound prevented
him from gaining the mâquis before being overtaken.

He approached Fortunato and said: "You are the son of Mateo