"Ah, good!" said my guide, as he followed the direction of my hand--"that is the house of Madame Savilia de Franchi. Go on, go on, Signor, you have not made a bad choice, and I can see you do not want for experience in these matters." I should note here that in this 86th department of France Italian is universally spoken. "But," I said, "may it not be inconvenient if I demand hospitality from a lady, for if I understand you rightly, this house belongs to a lady." "No doubt," he replied, with an air of astonishment; "but what inconvenience does your lordship think you will cause?" "If the lady be young," I replied, moved by a feeling of propriety--or, perhaps, let us say, of Parisian self-respect--"a night passed under her roof might compromise her." "Compromise her!" repeated the guide, endeavouring to probe the meaning of the word I had rendered in Italian with all the emphasis which one would hazard a word in a strange tongue. "Yes, of course," I replied, beginning to feel impatient; "the lady is a widow, I suppose?" "Yes, Excellency." "Well, then, will she receive a young man into her house?" In 1841 I was thirty-six years old, or thereabouts, and was entitled to call myself young. "Will she receive a young man!" exclaimed the guide; "why, what difference can it make whether you are young or old?" I saw that I should get no information out of him by this mode of interrogation, so I resumed-- "How old is Madame Savilia?" "Forty, or nearly so." "Ah," I said, replying more to my thoughts than to my guide, "all the better. She has children, no doubt?" "Yes, two sons--fine young men both." "Shall I see them?" "You will see one of them--he lives at home." "Where is the other, then?" "He lives in Paris." "How old are these sons?" "Twenty-one." "What, both?" "Yes, they are twins." "What professions do they follow?" "The one in Paris is studying law." "And the other?" "The other is a Corsican." "Indeed!" was my reply to this characteristic answer, made in the most matter-of-fact tone. "Well, now, let us push on for the house of Madame Savilia de Franchi." We accordingly resumed our journey, and entered the village about ten minutes afterwards. I now remarked what I had not noticed from the hill, namely, that every house was fortified similarly to Madame Savilia's. Not so completely, perhaps, for that the poverty of the inhabitants could not attain to, but purely and simply with oaken planks, by which the windows were protected, loop-holes only being left for rifle barrels; some apertures were simply bricked up. I asked my guide what he called these loop-holes, and he said they were known as _archères_--a reply which convinced me that they were used anterior to the invention of firearms. As we advanced through the streets we were able the more fully to comprehend the profound character of the solitude and sadness of the place.