Some formality or other, connected with his passports, had made it necessary for Colonel Nevil to call on the prefect. This gentleman, who, like most of his colleagues, found his life very dull, had been delighted to hear of the arrival of an Englishman who was rich, a man of the world, and the father of a pretty daughter. He had, therefore, given him the most friendly reception, and overwhelmed him with offers of service; further, within a very few days, he came to return his visit. The colonel, who had just dined, was comfortably stretched out upon his sofa, and very nearly asleep. His daughter was singing at a broken-down piano; Orso was turning over the leaves of her music, and gazing at the fair singer’s shoulders and golden hair. The prefect was announced, the piano stopped, the colonel got up, rubbed his eyes, and introduced the prefect to his daughter. “I do not introduce M. della Rebbia to you,” said he, “for no doubt you know him already.” “Is this gentleman Colonel della Rebbia’s son?” said the prefect, looking a trifle embarrassed. “Yes, monsieur,” replied Orso. “I had the honour of knowing your father.” The ordinary commonplaces of conversation were soon exhausted. The colonel, in spite of himself, yawned pretty frequently. Orso, as a liberal, did not care to converse with a satellite of the Government. The burden of the conversation fell on Miss Lydia. The prefect, on his side, did not let it drop, and it was clear that he found the greatest pleasure in talking of Paris, and of the great world, to a woman who was acquainted with all the foremost people in European society. As he talked, he now and then glanced at Orso, with an expression of singular curiosity. “Was it on the Continent that you made M. della Rebbia’s acquaintance?” he inquired. Somewhat embarrassed, Miss Lydia replied that she had made his acquaintance on the ship which had carried them to Corsica. “He is a very gentlemanly young fellow,” said the prefect, in an undertone; “and has he told you,” he added, dropping his voice still lower, “why he has returned to Corsica?” Miss Lydia put on her most majestic air and answered: “I have not asked him,” she said. “You may do so.” The prefect kept silence, but, an instant later, hearing Orso speak a few words of English to the colonel, he said: “You seem to have travelled a great deal, monsieur. You must have forgotten Corsica and Corsican habits.” “It is quite true that I was very young when I went away.” “You still belong to the army?” “I am on half-pay, monsieur.” “You have been too long in the French army not to have become a thorough Frenchman, I have no doubt?” The last words of the sentence were spoken with marked emphasis. The Corsicans are not particularly flattered at being reminded that they belong to the “Great Nations.” They claim to be a people apart, and so well do they justify their claim that it may very well be granted them.