CHAPTER IV
When Miss Lydia had visited the house in which Napoleon was born, and
had procured, by means more or less moral, a fragment of the wall-paper
belonging to it, she, within two days of her landing in Corsica, began
to feel that profound melancholy which must overcome every foreigner in
a country whose unsociable inhabitants appear to condemn him or her to a
condition of utter isolation. She was already regretting her headstrong
caprice; but to go back at once would have been to risk her reputation
as an intrepid traveller, so she made up her mind to be patient, and
kill time as best she could. With this noble resolution, she brought
out her crayons and colours, sketched views of the gulf, and did
the portrait of a sunburnt peasant, who sold melons, like any
market-gardener on the Continent, but who wore a long white beard, and
looked the fiercest rascal that had ever been seen. As all that was not
enough to amuse her, she determined to turn the head of the descendant
of the corporals, and this was no difficult matter, since, far from
being in a hurry to get back to his village, Orso seemed very happy at
Ajaccio, although he knew nobody there.
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