“Prosper, you have never set eyes on the macchia, the glory of your kingdom.  But you shall behold it soon, lad, and smell it—­for its fragrance spreads around the island and far out to sea.  It belts Corsica with verdure and a million million flowers—­cistus and myrtle and broom and juniper; clematis and vetch and wild roses run mad.  Deeper than the tall forests behind it the macchia will hide two lovers, and under the open sky hedge off all the world but their passion . . .  In the macchia we roamed together, day after day, and forgot the world; forgot all but honour; for she, my lady, was a child of sixteen, and as her knight I worshipped her.  Ah, those days! those scented days!

“But while we loved and Count Ugo wrote letters, the two Paolis were doing; and by-and-by they played the strangest stroke in all Corsica’s history.  That spring, at Aleria on the east coast, there landed a man of whom the Corsican’s had never heard.  He came out of nowhere with a single ship and less than a score of attendants—­to be precise, two officers, a priest, a secretary, a major-domo, an under-steward, a cook, three Tunisian slaves, and six lackeys.  He had sailed from Algiers, with a brief rest in the port of Leghorn, and he stepped ashore in Turkish dress, with scarlet-lined cloak, turban, and scimetar.  He called himself Theodore, a baron of Westphalia, and he brought with him a ship-load of arms and ammunition, a thousand zechins of Tunis, and letters from half a dozen of the Great Powers promising assistance.  Whether these were genuine or not, I cannot tell you.

“Led by the two Paolis—­this is no fairy tale, my friends—­the Corsicans welcomed and proclaimed him king, without even waiting for despatches from Count Rivarola (who had negotiated) to inform them of the terms agreed upon.  They led him in triumph to Corte, and there, in their ancient capital, crowned and anointed him.  He gave laws, issued edicts, struck money, distributed rewards.  He put himself in person at the head of the militia, and blocked up the Genoese in their fortified towns.  For a few months he swept the island like a conqueror.

“All this, as you may suppose, utterly disconcerted the Count Ugo Colonna, who saw his dreams topple at one stroke into the dust.  But the chiefs found a way to reconcile him.  Their new King Theodore must marry and found a dynasty.  Let a bride be found for him in Colonna’s daughter, and let children be born to him of the best blood in Corsica.

“The Count recovered his good temper:  his spirits rose at a bound:  he embraced the offer.  His grandsons should be kings of Corsica.  And she—­my Emilia—­

“We met once only after her father had broken the news to her.  He had not asked her consent; he had told her, in a flutter of pride, that this thing must be, and for her country’s sake.  She came to me, in the short dusk, upon the terrace overlooking the Taravo.  She was of heart too heroic to linger out our agony.  In the dusk she stretched out both hands—­ah, God, the child she looked! so helpless, so brave!—­and I caught them and kissed them.  Then she was gone.