CHAPTER XXVIII.
GOLD.
“I do believe yourself against yourself, And will henceforward rather die than doubt.”
All eyes were now turned on the notary, who was hurriedly looking throughthe papers thrown down before him by Lory.
“They have passed through my hands before, when I was a youth, inconnection with a boundary dispute,” he said, as if to explain hisapparent hastiness. “They are all here--they are correct, monsieur.”
He was a very quick man, and folding the papers as he spoke, he tied themtogether with the faded pink tape which had been fingered by threegenerations of Vasselots. He laid the packet on the table close to Lory’shand. Then he glanced at Denise and fell into thought, arranging in hismind that which he had to say to her.
“It is one of those cases, mademoiselle,” he said at length, “commonenough in Corsica, where a verbal agreement has never been confirmed inwriting. Men who have been friends, become enemies so easily in thiscountry. I cannot tell you upon what terms Mattei Perucca lived in theCasa. No one can tell you that. All that we know is that we have notitle-deeds--and that monsieur has them. The Casa may be yours, but youcannot prove it. Such a case tried in a law court in Corsica would go infavour of the litigant who possessed the greater number of friends in thelocality. It would go in your favour if it could be tried here. But itwould need to go to France. And there we could only look for justice, andjustice is on the side of monsieur.”
He apologized, as it were, for justice, of which he made himself therepresentative in that room. Then he turned towards de Vasselot.
“Monsieur is well within his rights--” he said, significantly, “--if heinsist on them.”
“I insist on them,” replied Lory, who was proud of Denise’s pride.
And Denise laughed.
The notary turned and looked curiously at her.
“Mademoiselle is able to be amused.”
“I was thinking of the Rue du Cherche-Midi in Paris,” she said, and theexplanation left the lawyer more puzzled than before. She took up hergloves and drew them on.
“Then I am rendered penniless, monsieur?” she asked the notary.
“By me,” answered Lory. And even the notary was silent. It is hard tosilence a man who lives by his tongue. But there were here, it seemed,understandings and misunderstandings which the lawyer failed tocomprehend.
The Abbé Susini had crossed the room and was whispering somethinghurriedly to Mademoiselle Brun, who acquiesced curtly and rather angrily.She had the air of the man at the wheel, to whom one must not speak. Forshe was endeavouring rather nervously to steer two high-sailed vesselsthrough those shoals and quicksands that must be passed by all who setout in quest of love.
Then the abbé turned impulsively to Lory.
“Mademoiselle must be told about the gold--she must be told,” he said.
“I had forgotten the gold,” answered Lory, quite truthfully.
“You have forgotten everything, except the eyes of mademoiselle,” theabbé muttered to himself as he went back to his place near the window. DeVasselot took up the packet of papers and began to untie the tapeawkwardly with his one able hand. He was so slow that Mademoiselle Brunleant forward and assisted him. Denise bit her lip and pushed a chairtowards him with her foot. He sat down and unfolded a map coloured anddrawn in queer angles. This he laid upon the table, and, by a gesture,called Mademoiselle Brun and Denise to look at it. The abbé took a pencilfrom the notary’s table, and after studying the map for a moment he drewa careful circle in the centre of it, embracing portions of the variouscolours and of the two estates described respectively as Perucca andVasselot.
“That,” he said to Lory, “is the probable radius of it so far as theexpert could tell me on his examination of the ground yesterday.”
Lory turned to Denise.
“You must think us all mad--at our games of cross-purposes,” he said. “Itappears that there is gold in the two estates--and gold has accounted formost human madnesses. Where the abbé has drawn this line there lies thegold--beyond the dreams of avarice, mademoiselle. And Colonel Gilbert wasthe only man who knew it. So you understand Gilbert, at all events.”
“You did not know it when I asked your advice in Paris?”
“I learnt it two hours ago from the Abbé Susini; so I hastened here toclaim the whole of it,” answered Lory, with a laugh.
But Denise was grave.
“But you knew that Perucca was never mine,” she persisted.
“Yes, I knew that, but then Perucca was valueless. So soon as I knew itsvalue, I reclaimed it.”
“I warn Monsieur de Vasselot that such frankness is imprudent; he mayregret it,” put in the notary with a solemn face. And Denise gave him aglance of withering pity. The poor man, it seemed, was quite at sea.
“Thank you,” laughed de Vasselot. “I only judge myself as the world willjudge me. You were very rich, mademoiselle, and I have made you verypoor.”
Denise glanced at him, and said nothing. And de Vasselot’s breath camerather quickly.
“But the Casa Perucca is at your disposal so long as you may chooseto live there,” he continued. “My father is to be buried at Olmetato-morrow, but I cannot even remain to attend the funeral. So I need notassure you that I do not want the Casa Perucca for myself.”
“Where are you going?” asked Denise, bluntly.
“Back to France. I have heard news that makes it necessary for me toreturn. Gambetta has escaped from Paris in a balloon, and is organizingaffairs at Tours. We may yet make a defence.”
“You?” said Mademoiselle Brun. Into the one word she threw, or attemptedto throw, a world of contempt, as she looked him up and down, with hisarm in a sling, and his wounded leg bent awkwardly to one side; but hereyes glittered. This was a man after her own heart.
“One has one’s head left, mademoiselle,” answered Lory. Then he turned tothe window, and held up one hand. “Listen!” he added.
It was the music of a second regiment marching down the Boulevard duPalais, towards the port, and, as it approached, it was rendered almostinaudible by the shouts of the men themselves, and of the crowd thatcheered them. De Vasselot went to the window and opened it, his facetwitching, and his eyes shining with excitement.
“Listen to them,” he said. “Listen to them. Ah! but it is good to hearthem.”
Instinctively the others followed him, and stood grouped in the openwindow, looking down into the street. The band was now passing, clangingout the Marseillaise, and the fickle people cheered the new tricolour, asit fluttered in the wind. Some one looked up, and perceived de Vasselot’suniform.
“Come, mon capitaine,” he cried; “you are coming with us?”
Lory laughed, and shouted back--“Yes--I am coming.”
“See,” cried a sergeant, who was gathering recruits as he went--“see!there is one who has fought, and is going to fight again! Vive la France,mes enfants! Who comes? Who comes?”
And the soldiers, looking up, gave a cheer for the wounded man who was tolead them. They passed on, followed by a troup of young men and boys,half of whom ultimately stepped on board the steamer at the last moment,and went across the sea to fight for France.
De Vasselot turned away from the window, and went towards the table,where the papers lay in confusion. The abbé took them up, and began toarrange them in order.
“And the estate and the gold?” he said; “who manages that, since you aregoing to fight?”
“You,” replied de Vasselot, “since you cannot fight. There is no one butyou in Corsica who can manage it. There is none but you to understandthese people.”
“All the world knows who manages half of Corsica,” put in MademoiselleBrun, looking fiercely at the abbé. But the abbé only stamped his footimpatiently.
“Woman’s gossip,” he muttered, as he shook the papers together. “Yes; Iwill manage your estate if you like. And if there is gold in the land, Iwill tear it out. And there is gold. The amiable colo
nel is not the manto have made a mistake on that point. I shall like the work. It will bean occupation. It will serve to fill one’s life.”
“Your life is not empty,” said mademoiselle.
The abbé turned and looked at her, his glittering eyes meeting hertwinkling glance.
“It is a priest’s life,” he said. “Come,” he added, turning to thelawyer--“come, Mr. the Notary, into your other room, and write me out aform of authority for the Count de Vasselot to sign. We have had enoughof verbal agreements on this estate.”
And, taking the notary by the arm, he went to the door. On the thresholdhe turned, and looked at Mademoiselle Brun.
“A priest’s life,” he said, “or an old woman’s. It is the same thing.”
And Lory was left alone with mademoiselle and Denise. The window wasstill open, and from the port the sound of the military music reachedtheir ears faintly. Mademoiselle rose, and went to the window, whereshe stood looking out. Her eyes were dim as she looked across thesordid street, but her lips were firm, and the hands that rested on thewindow-sill quite steady. She had played consistently a strong andcareful game. Was she going to win or lose? She held that, next to beinga soldier, it is good to be a soldier’s wife and the mother of fightingmen. And when she thought of the Rue du Cherche-Midi, she was not able tobe amused, as the notary had said of Denise.
There was a short silence in the notary’s office. De Vasselot wasfingering the hilt of his long cavalry sword reflectively. After a momenthe glanced across at Denise. He was placed as it were between her and thesword. And it was to the sword that he gave his allegiance.
“You see,” he said, in a low voice, “I must go.”
“Yes, you must go,” she answered. She held her lip for a moment betweenher teeth. Then she looked steadily at him. “Go!” she said.
He rose from his chair and looked towards Mademoiselle Bran’s back. Atthe rattle of his scabbard against the chair, mademoiselle turned.
“There is a horse waiting in the street below,” she said--“the greathorse that Colonel Gilbert rides. It is waiting for you, I suppose.”
“I suppose so,” said Lory, who went to the window and looked curiouslydown. Gilbert was certainly an odd man. He had left in anger, and hadleft his horse for Lory to ride. He waited a moment, and then held outhis hand to Mademoiselle Brun. All three seemed to move and speak under asort of oppression. It was one of those moments that impress themselvesindelibly on the memory--a moment when words are suddenly useless--whenthe memory of an attitude and of a silence remains all through life.
“Good-bye, mademoiselle,” said Lory, with a sudden cheerfulness; “weshall meet in France next time.”
Mademoiselle Brun held out her shrinking little hand.
“Yes, in France,” she answered.
To Denise, Lory said nothing. He merely shook hands with her. Then hewalked towards the door, haltingly. He used his sword like a walkingstick, with his one able hand. Denise had to open the door for him. Hewas on the threshold, when Mademoiselle Brun stopped him.
“Monsieur de Vasselot,” she said, “when the soldiers went past, you andColonel Gilbert spoke together hurriedly; I saw you. You are not going tofight--you two?”
“Yes, mademoiselle, we are going to fight--the Prussians. We are friendswhile we have a common enemy. When there is no enemy--who knows? He hasreceived a great appointment in France, and has offered me a post underhim. And I have accepted it.”