CHAPTER XXIII.
AN UNDERSTANDING.
“Keep cool, and you command everybody.”
When France realized that Napoleon III had fallen, she turned and renthis memory. No dog, it appears, may have his day, but some cur must needsyelp at his heels. Indeed (and this applies to literary fame as toemperors), it is a sure sign that a man is climbing high if the littledogs bark below.
And the little dogs and the curs remembered now the many slights castupon them. France had been betrayed--was ruined. The twenty mostprosperous years of her history were forgotten. There was a rush ofpatriots to Paris, and another rush of the chicken-hearted to the coastand the frontier.
The Baron de Mélide telegraphed to the baroness to quit Fréjus and go toItaly. And the baroness telegraphed a refusal to do so.
Lory de Vasselot fretted as much as one of his buoyant nature could fretunder this forced inactivity. The sunshine, the beautiful surroundings,and the presence of friends, made him forget France at times, and thinkonly of the present. And Denise absorbed his thoughts of the present andthe future. She was a constant puzzle to him. There seemed to be twoDenise Langes: one who was gay with that deep note of wisdom in hergaiety, which only French women compass, with odd touches of tendernessand little traits of almost maternal solicitude, which betrayedthemselves at such moments as the wounded man attempted to do somethingwhich his crippled condition or his weakness prevented him fromaccomplishing. The other Denise was clear-eyed, logical, almost cold, whoresented any mention of Corsica or of the war. Indeed, de Vasselot hadseen her face harden at some laughing reference made by him to hisapproaching recovery. He was quick enough to perceive that she wasendeavouring to shut out of her life all but the present, which wasunusual; for most pin their faith on the future until they are quite old,and their future must necessarily be a phantom.
“I do not understand you, mademoiselle,” he said, one day, on one of therare occasions when she had allowed herself to be left alone with him.“You are brave, and yet you are a coward!”
And the resentment in her eyes took him by surprise. He did not know,perhaps, that the wisest men never see more than they are intended tosee.
“Pray do not try,” she answered. “The effort might delay your recoveryand your return to the army.”
She laughed, and presently left him. It is one thing to face the future,and another to sit quietly awaiting its approach. The majority of peoplespoil their lives by going out to meet the future, deliberatelyconverting into a reality that which was only a dread. They call itknowing the worst.
The next morning Mademoiselle Brun, with a composed face and blinkingeyes, mentioned casually to Lory that she and Denise were going back toCorsica.
“But why?” cried Lory; “but why, my dear demoiselle?”
“I do not know,” answered Mademoiselle Brun, smoothing her gloves. “Itwill, at all events, show the world that we are not afraid.”
De Vasselot looked at her non-committing face and held his peace. Therewas more in this than a man’s philosophy might dream of.
“When do you go?” he asked after a pause.
“To-night, from Nice,” was the answer.
And, as has been noted, Denise and mademoiselle arrived at Bastia in theearly morning, and drove to the Casa Perucca, in the face of more thanone rifle-barrel. Mademoiselle Brun never asked questions, and, if sheknew why Denise had returned to Perucca so suddenly, she had not acquiredthe knowledge from the girl herself, but had, behind her beady eyes, puttwo and two together with that accuracy of which women have the monopoly.She meekly set to work to make the Casa Perucca comfortable, and took upher horticultural labours where she had dropped them.
“One misses the Château de Vasselot,” she said one morning, standing bythe open window that gave so wide a view of the valley.
“Yes,” answered Denise; and that was all.
Mademoiselle went into the garden with her leather gloves and a smallbasket. The odd thing about her gardening was, that it was on such aminute scale that the result was never visible to the ordinary eye.Denise had, it appeared, given up gardening. Mademoiselle Brun did notknow how she occupied herself at this time. She seemed to do nothing, andpreferred to do it alone. Returning to the house at midday, mademoisellewent into the drawing-room, and there found Denise and Colonel Gilbertseated at the table with some papers, and a map spread out before them.
Both looked up with a guilty air, and Denise flushed suddenly, while thecolonel bit his lip. Immediately he recovered himself, and rising, shookhands with the new-comer.
“I heard that you had returned,” he said, “and hastened to pay myrespects.”
“We were looking at the plans,” added Denise, hurriedly. “I have agreedto sell Perucca to Colonel Gilbert--as you have always wished me to do.”
“Yes; I have always wished you do it,” returned Mademoiselle Brun,slowly. She was very cool and collected, and in that had the advantageover her companions. “Has the colonel the money in his pocket?” she askedwith a dry smile. “Is it to be settled this afternoon?”
She glanced from one to the other. If love is blind, he certainly tamperswith the sight of those who have had dealings with him. Denise was onlythinking of Perucca. She had not perceived that Colonel Gilbert washonestly in love with her. But Mademoiselle Brun saw it. She waswondering--if this thing had come to Gilbert twenty years earlier--whatmanner of man it might have made of him. It was a good love. Mademoisellesaw that quite clearly. For a dishonest man may at any moment be trippedup by an honest passion. Which is one of those practical jokes of Fatethat break men’s hearts.
“You know as well as I do,” said Colonel Gilbert, with more earnestnessthan he had ever shown, “that the sooner you and mademoiselle are out ofthe island the better.”
“Bah!” laughed mademoiselle. “With you at Bastia to watch over us, moncolonel! Besides, we Peruccas are invincible just now. Have we not burntdown the Château de Vasselot?”
Gilbert winced. Mademoiselle wondered why.
“I want it settled as soon as possible,” put in Denise, turning to thepapers. “There is no need of delay.”
“None,” acquiesced mademoiselle. She wanted to sell Perucca and be donewith it, and with the island. She was a woman of iron nerve, but thegloom and loneliness of Corsica had not left her at ease. There was ahaunting air of disaster that seemed to brood over the whole land, withits miles and miles of untenanted mountains, its malarial plains, anddeserted sea-board. “None,” she repeated. “But such transactions are notto be carried through, in a woman’s drawing-room, by two women and asoldier.”
She looked from one to the other. She did not know why one wanted to buyand the other to sell. She only knew that her own inclination was to givethem every assistance, and to give it even against her better judgment.It could only be, after all, the question of a little more or a littleless profit, and she, who had never had any money, knew that thepossession of it never makes a woman one whit the happier.
“Then,” said the colonel with his easy laugh--for he was inimitable inthe graceful art of yielding--“Then, let us appoint a day to sign thenecessary agreements in the office of the notary at Bastia. I tell youfrankly I want to get you out of the island.”
The colonel stayed to lunch, and, whether by accident or intention, madea better impression than he had ever made before. He was intelligent,easy, full of information and _o rara avis!_ proved himself to be a manwithout conceit. He never complained of his ill-fortune in life, but hisindividuality thrust the fact into every mind, that this was a mandestined for distinction who had missed it. He seemed to be ridingthrough life for a fall, and rode with his chin up, gay and _debonnaire_.
Mademoiselle Brun felt relieved by the thought that the end of Corsica,and this impossible Casa Perucca, was in sight. She was gay as a littlegrey mouse may be gay at some domestic festival. She sent the widow tothe cellar, and the occasion was duly celebrated in a bottle of MatteiPerucca’s old wine.
W
ith coffee came the question of fixing a date for the signature of thedeed of sale at the notary’s office at Bastia. And instantly the mouseskipped, as it were, into a retired corner of the conversation andcrouched silent, watching with bright eyes.
“I should like it to be done soon,” said the colonel, who, at thesuggestion of his hostess, had lighted a cigarette. He seemed morehimself with a cigarette between his fingers to contemplate with a dreamyeye, to turn and twist in reflective idleness. “You will understand thatmy future movements are uncertain if, as now seems possible, the war isnot over.”
“But surely it is over,” put in Denise, quickly.
The colonel shrugged his shoulders.
“Who can tell? We are in the hands of a few journalists and lawyers,mademoiselle. If the men of words say ‘Resist,’ we others are ready. Ihave applied to be relieved of my command here, since they are going tofortify Paris. Shall we say next week?”
“To-day is Thursday--shall we say Monday?” replied Denise.
“Make it Wednesday,” suggested Mademoiselle Brun from her silent corner.
And after some discussion Wednesday was finally selected. MademoiselleBrun had no particular reason why it should be Wednesday, in preferenceto Monday, and, unlike most people in such circumstances, advanced none.
“We shall require witnesses,” she said as the colonel took his leave. “Ishall be able to find two to testify to the signature of Denise.”
The colonel had apparently forgotten this necessity. He thanked her anddeparted.
“And on Wednesday,” he said, “I shall in reality have the money in mypocket.”
During the afternoon mademoiselle announced her intention of walking toOlmeta. It would be advisable to secure the Abbé Susini as a witness, shesaid. He was a busy man, and a journey to Bastia would of necessity takeup his whole day. Denise did not offer to accompany her, so she set outalone at a quick pace, learnt, no doubt, in the Rue des Saints Pères.
“They will not shoot at an old woman,” she said, and never looked aside.
The priest’s housekeeper received her coldly. Yes the abbé was at home,she said, holding the door ajar with scant hospitality. Mademoisellepushed it open and went into the narrow passage. She had not too muchrespect for a priest, and none whatever for a priest’s housekeeper, whokept a house so badly. She looked at the dirty floor, and with a subtlefeminine irony, sought the mat which was lying in the road outside thehouse. She folded her hands at her waist, and still grasping her cheapcotton umbrella, waited to be announced.
The Abbé Susini received her in his little bare study, where a fewnewspapers, half a dozen ancient volumes of theology and a life ofNapoleon the Great, represented literature. He bowed silently and drewforward his own horsehair armchair. Mademoiselle Brun sat down, andcrossed her hands upon the hilt of her umbrella like a soldier at restunder arms. She waited until the housekeeper had closed the door andshuffled away to her own quarters. Then she looked the resolute littleabbé straight in the eyes.
“Let us understand each other,” she said.
“Bon Dieu! upon what point, mademoiselle?”
Mademoiselle was still looking at him. She perceived that there were somepoints upon which the priest did not desire to be understood. She held upone finger in its neutral-coloured cotton glove, and shook it slowly fromside to side.
“None of your theology,” she said; “I come to you as a man--the only manI think in this island at present.”
“At present?”
“Yes, the other is in France, recovering from his wounds.”
“Ah!” said the abbé, glancing shrewdly into her face. “You also haveperceived that he is a man--that. But there is our good Colonel Gilbert.You forget him.”
“He would have made a good priest,” said mademoiselle, bluntly, and theabbé laughed aloud.
“Ah! but you amuse me, mademoiselle. You amuse me enormously.” And heleant back to laugh at his ease.
“Yes, I came on purpose to amuse you. I came to tell you that DeniseLange has sold Perucca to Colonel Gilbert.”
“Sacred name of--thunder,” he muttered, the mirth wiped away from hisface as if with a cloth. He sat bolt upright, glaring at her, hisrestless foot tapping on the floor.
“Ah, you women!” he ejaculated after a pause.
“Ah, you priests!” returned Mademoiselle Brun, composedly.
“And you did not stop it,” he said, looking at her with undisguisedcontempt.
“I have no control. I used to have a little; now I have none.”
She finished with a gesture, describing the action of a leaf blown beforethe wind.
“But I have put off the signing of the papers until Wednesday,” shecontinued. “I have undertaken to provide two witnesses, yourself if youwill consent, the other--I thought we might get the other from Fréjusbetween now and Wednesday. A boat from St. Florent to-night could surely,with this wind, reach St. Raphael to-morrow.”
The abbé was looking at her with manifest approval.
“Clever,” he said--“clever.”
Mademoiselle Brun rose to go as abruptly as she had come.
“Personally,” she said, “I shall be glad to be rid of Perucca forever--but I fancied there are reasons.”
“Yes,” said the priest, slowly, “there are reasons.”
“Oh! I ask no questions,” she snapped out at him with her hand on thedoor. On the threshold she paused. “All the same,” she said, “I do ask aquestion. Why does Colonel Gilbert want to buy?”
The priest threw up his hands in angry bewilderment.
“That is it!” he cried. “I wish I knew.”
“Then find out,” said mademoiselle, “between now and Wednesday.”
And with a curt nod she left him.