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I I Additional comments:/ . — Commentaires supplementaires: This Item is filmed it the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est filme au taux de reduction indique ci-d< K ^ Copyright^ in the Vnited Statei^. TO LUCASTA. GOING TO THE x.^RS. Tell mo not, sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True : a now mistress now I choose, The first foe iu the field; And Willi a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, and sliield. Yet this inconstancy ia such As yon too shall adore ; I could not love thee, dear, so much Lov'd I not honour more. EicHARD Lovelace. CHA I] I V VI VII IS X X] XI] XIII XI\ XV XVI XVII CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. The Moving Finger II. CuEZ Clement III. A By-path IV. A Toss-rp V. In the Rue du Cherche-Midi "VI. NEIOnBOTJRS VII. Journey's End ... VIII. At Vasselot IX. The Promised Land X. Thus Far XI. Br Surprise XII, A Summons .., „, XIII. War XIV. Gossip XV. War XVI. A Masterful Man ... XVII. Without Drum or Trumpet PAGE 1 13 25 37 49 61 72 84 96 108 120 im 144 155 166 177 188 Vlll ciiArTrn XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. CONTENTS. A Woman of Actiok ... The Search WOCKDED Fob France In the Macql'is An Understanding "Ck que Femme Veut" On the Great Road The End of the Jocrney The Abbe's Salad Gold A Balanced Account The Beginning and the End PAGE . 201 212 . 222 233 .. 2i5 257 .. 209 279 ... 291 808 ... 311 mit ... 335 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. "Monsieur le Colonel," he said She knelt by the Dead Man's Side "Abe you Lory de Vasselot?" ... They pulled slowly out ... FrontUpiece To face page 6 ... „ 82 198 They slowly cocked tueib Old-fashioned Single- 256 barrelled Guns ... ... ••• ••• " He threw the Abbe back ... ... ••• " 813 FAGR ... 201 212 ... 222 233 ... 2i5 257 ... 209 270 ... 291 303 ... 314 324 ... 335 . Frontispiece To face page 6 . „ 82 198 . „ 256 813 THE ISLE OF UNEEST. —«*- CHAPTER I. THE MOVIXG FIXGEIJ. " The Moving Finger writes ; and, Laving writ. Moves on : nor all thy piety nor wit ^ Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it." ' The afternoon sun was lowering towards a heavy bank of clouds hanging still and sullen over the Mediter- ranean. A mistral was blowing. The last yellow rays shone fiercely upon the towering coast of Corsica, and the windows of the village of Olmeta glittered like gold. There are two Olmetas in Corsica, both in the north both on the west coast, both perched high like an eagle's nest both looking down upon those lashed waters of the Mediterranean, which are not the waters that poets sing of, for they are as often white as they are blue • they are seldom glassy except in the height of summer! S ^1 2 THE ISLE OP UNREST. and sailors tell that they are as treacherous as any waters of the earth. Neither aneroid nor weather- wisdom may, as a matter of fact, tell when a mistral will arise, how it will blow, how veer, how drop and rise, and drop again. For it will blow one day beneath a cloudless sky, lashing the whole sea white like milk, and blow harder to-morrow under racing clouds. The great chestnut trees in and around Olmeta groaned and strained in the grip of their lifelong foe. The small door, the tiny windows, of every house were rigorously closed. The whole place had a wind-swept air despite the heavy foliage. Even the roads, and notably the broad " Place," had been swept clean and dustless. And in the middle of the " Place," between the fountain and the church steps, a man lay dead upon his face. It is as well to state here, once for all, that we are dealing with Olmeta-di-Tuda, and not that other Olmeta— the virtuous, di Capocorso, in fact, which would shudder at the thought of a dead man lying on its "Place," before the windows of the very Mairie, under the shadow of the church. For Cap Corse is the good boy of Corsica, where men think sorrowfully of the wilder communes to the south, and raise their eyebrows at the very mention of Corte and Sartene — where, at all events, the women have for husbands, men — and not degenerate Pisan vine-snippers. srous as any aor wcatlior- len a mistral ow drop autl i clay beneath ite like milk, ilouds. Dund Olmeta lifelong foo. y house were I wind-swept le roads, and ipt clean and ice," between lan lay dead all, that we ot that other I fact, which man lying on very Mairie, p Corse is the : sorrowfully id raise their nd Sartene — for husbands, ipers. THE MOVING FINGER. 3 It was not so long ago either. For the man mi^ht have been ahve to-day, though ho would have bee^oM and bent no doubt; for he was a thick-set man and must have been strong. He had, indeed ca^r ed h Was he not to bo traced all tho way ud tl» .1 T though the olive tehees ,y one Wo V' f" ^ne I lace, towards the fountain of which ha h.i ^^n.»tH.eapo.oned rat that t.e.toi;:;r He lay quite alone, still grasping t,,e g„„ „,,;,,, , .ad never laid aside since boyhood. Ko oneTen to "»; no one had attempted to help hi,n HeTl siowly from one trouser-leg. For M» ^. n • «at is to say. dirty ^orbeld^r n he back, at close range, without warning or L" as honest men would be ashamed to shoot th! beast of the forest It w,= . i-, , "^''^" buck-shot W '"""'^ ^' ""' " ^arge of buckshot low down an the body, leaving the rest to hemorrhage or gangrene. ™ it sCd rj'' .'"" "' "' '"' ^^"^ ■"» '»* -- that .should be no busmess of his. Several had approached P.pe m mouth, and looked at the dead »an w thol; «.mme„ ; but aU had gone away again, idir n -^.fferently. For in this the most betua/oMr, 4 THE ISLE OF UNREST. islands, human life is held cheaper than in any land of Europe. Some one, it was understood, had gone to tell the cendarmcs down at St. Florent. There was no need to send and tell his wife— half a dozen women were racing through the olive groves to get the first taste of that. Perhaps some one had gone towards Oletta to meet the Abbe Susini, whose business in a measure this must he. The sun suddenly dipped behind the heavy bank of clouds and the mountains darkened. Although it lies in the very centre of the Mediterranean, Corsica is a gloomy land, and the summits of her high mountains are more often covered than clear. It is a land of silence and brooding quiet. The women are seldom gay ; the men, in their heavy clothes of dark corduroy, have little to say for themselves. Some of them were standing now in the shadow of the great trees, smoking their pipes in silence, and looking with a studied in- difference at nothing. Each was prepared to swear before a jury at the Bastia assizes that he knew nothing of the " accident," as it is here called, to Pietro Andrei, and had not seen him crawl up to Olmeta to die. Indeed, Pietro Andrei's death seemed to be nobody's business, though we are told that not so much as a sparrow may fall unheeded. The Abbe Susini was coming now— a little fiery man. any land of to tell the no need to 'omen were irst taste of Is Oletta to I a measure .vy bank of lOugh it lies Corsica is a h mountains !s a land of are seldom rk corduroy, P them were ees, smoking , studied in- 3d to swear it he knew led, to Pietro ;o Olmeta to emed to be ; not so much tie fiery map. TUE MOVING FINGER. 5 -ith the walk of one who was slightly bow-legged, though his cassock naturally concealed this defect. He was small and not too broad, with a narrow face and dean, straight features-something of the Spaniard somethmg of the Greek, nothing Italian, nothiu.' French. In a word, this was a Corsican, which is to say that he was different from any other European race, and would, as sure as there is corn in E<.ypt be overbearing, masterful, impossible. He was, 0/ course clean shaven, as brown as old oak, with little flashing' black eyes. His cassock was a good one, and his hat° though dusty, shapely and new. But his whole bearmg threw, as it were, into the observer's face the suggestion that the habit does not make the priest. He came forward without undue haste, and displayed little surprise and no horror. " Quite like old times," he said to himself, remember- ing the days of Louis Philippe. He knelt down beside the dead man, and perhaps the attitude reminded him of his calling; for he fell to praying, and made the gesture of the cross over Andrei's head. Then suddenly he leai3t to his feet, and shook his lean fist out towards the valley and St. Florent, as if he knew whence tliis trouble came. " Provided they would keep their work in their own commune," he cried, "instead of brinrrinrr ri^-rr..- ' — ^"-^ ^* ijunging aiogracu on a parish that has not had the gendarmes this-this " 6 THE ISLE OF UNREST. "Three days," added one of the bystanders, who had drawn near. And he said it with a certain pride, as of one well pleased to belong to a virtuous com- munity. But the priest was not listening. He had already turned aside in his quick, jerky way; for he was a comparatively young man. He was looking through the olives towards the south. " It is the women," he said, and his face suddenly hardened. He was impulsive, it appeared -— quick to feel for others, fiery in his anger, hasty in his judgment. From the direction in which he and the bystanders looked, came the hum of many voices, and the high, in- cessant shrieks of one who seemed demented. Presently a confused procession appeared from the direction of the south, hurrying through the narrow street now called the Hue Carnot. It was headed by a woman, who led a little child, running and stumbling as he ran. At her heels a number of women hurried, confusedly shouting, moaning, and wailing. The men stood waiting for them in dead silence — a characteristic scene. The leading woman seemed to be superior to her neighbours, for she wore a black silk handkerchief on her head instead of a white or coloured cotton. It is almost a mantilla, and marks as clear a social disl'.nction in Corsica as does that head-dress in Spain. She dragged .nders, who jrtain pride, •tuous com- bad already )r he wa3 a ing through ,ce suddenly ,red — quick lasty in his 3 bystanders the high, in- 1. Presently 'ection of the t now called nan, who led he ran. At ., confusedly stood waiting scene. The r neighbours, on her liead It is almost list notion in She dragged SHE KNELT liY Till; DEAD MAn's SIDE. I THE MOVING FINGER. 7 at the chil,], and scarce turned her head when he fell I and «cramlled as best he could to his feet. He laughed and .■rowed witli deliglit, remembering last year's carnival with that startling, photographic memory of early childhood which never forgets. At every few steps the woman gave a shriek as if she were suffering some intermittent agony which caught her at regular intervals. At the sight of the crowd she gave a quick cry of despair, and ran forward eaving her child sprawling on the road. She knelt hy the dead man's side with shriek after shriek, and seemed to lose all control over herself, for she gave way to those strange gestures of despair of which many read in novels and a few in the Scriptures, and which come by instinct to those who have no reading at all. She dragged the handkerchief from her head, and threw it over her face. She beat her breast. She beat the very ground with her clenched hands. Her little boy iiavmg gathered his belongings together and dusted his cotton frock, now came forward, and stood watching her with his fingers at his mouth. He took it to be a game which he did not understand ; as indeed it was- tlie game of life. The priest scratched his chin with his forefinger wHich was probably a habit with him when puzzled' and stood looking down out of the corner of his eyes at the ground. i THE ISLE OF UNREST. It was he, however, who moved first, and, stooping, loosed the clenched fingers round the gun. It was a douhlc-barrelled gun, at full cock, and every man in the little crowd assembled carried one like it. To this day, if one meets a man, even in the streets of Corte or Ajaccio, who carries no gun, it may be presumed that it is only because he pins greater faith on a revolver. Neither hammer had fallen, and the abbe gave a little nod. It was, it seemed, the usual thing to make quite sure before shooting, so that there might be no unnecessary waste of powder or risk of reprisal. The woman looked at the gun, too, and knew the meaning of the raised hammers. She leapt to her feet, and looked round at the sullen faces. " And some of you know who did it," she said ; " and you will help the murderer when he goes to the macquis, and take him food, and tell him when the gendarmes are hunting him." She waved her hand fiercely towards the mountains, which loomea, range behind range, dark and forbidding to the south, towards Calvi and Corte. But the men only shrugged their shoulders ; for the forest and the mountain brushwood were no longer the refuge they used to be in this the last yeai of the iron rule of Napoleon III., who, whether he possessed or not the Corsican THE MOVING FINGER. 1, sfcoopiag, It was a 3ry man in it. To tins ts of Corte i presumed faith on a bbe gave a tig to make ight be no )risal. The le meaniDg ; the sullen she said ; goes to the 1 when the mountains, I forbidding lit the men 23t and the je they used f Napoleon le Corsican blood that his foes deny him, knew, at all events, how to rule Corsica better than any man before or since. " No, no," said the priest, soothingly. " Those days are gone. He will be taken, and justice will be done." But he spoke without conviction, almost as if he had no faith in this vaunted regeneration of a people whose history is a story of endless strife— as if he could see with a prophetic eye thirty years into the future, down to the present day, when the last state of that land is worse than the first. " Justice ! " cried the woman. " There is no justice in Corsica! What had Pietro done that he should lie there ? Only his duty—only that foi which he was paid. He was the Peruccas' agent, and because he made the idlers pay their rent, they threatened him. Because he put up fences, they raised their guns to him. Because he stopped their thieving and their lawlessness, they shoot him. He drove their cattle from the fields because they were Perucca's fields, and he was paid to watch his master's interests. But Perucca they dare not touch, because his clan is large, and would hunt the murderer down. If he was caught, the Peruccas would make sure of the jury— ay ! and of the judge at Bastia— but Pietro is not of Corsica; he has no friends and no clan, so justice is not for him." She knelt down again as she spoke and laid her li THE ISLE OF UNREST. hand on her dead liusband's back, but she made no attempt to move him. For although Pietro Andrei "was an Italian, his wife was Corsican — a woman of Bonifacio, that grim town on a rock so often besieged and never yet taken by a fair fight. She had been brought up in, as it were, an atmosphere of con- ventional lawlessness, and knew that it is well not to touch a dead man till the gendarmes have seen him, but to send a child or an old woman to the gendarmerie, and then to stand aloof and know nothinji, and feign stupidity ; so that the officials, when they arrive, may find the whole village at work in the fields or sitting in their homes, while the dead, who can tell no tales, has suddenly few friends and no enemies. Then Andrei's widow rose slowly to her feet. Her face was composed now and set. She arranged the black silk handkerchief on her head, and set her dress in order. She was suddenly calm and quiet. "But see," she said, looking round into eyes that failed to meet her own, " in this country each man must execute his own justice. It has always been so, and it will be so, so long as there are any Corsicans left. And if there is no man left, then the women must do it." She tied her apron tighter, as if about to undertake some hard domestic duty, and brushed the dust from her black dress. THE MOVING FINGER. 11 I made no ro Andrei woman of n besieged had been e of con- well not have seen an to the w nothing, vhen they the fields who can enemies. Feet. Her anged the i her dress eyes that each man s been so, Corsicans ae women undertake dust from " Come here," she said, turning to the child, and lapsing into the soft dialect of the south and east— " come here, thou child of Pietro Andrei." The child came forward. He was probably two years old, and understood nothing that was passing. "See here, you of Olmeta," she said composedly; and, stooping down, she dipped her finger in the pool of blood that had collected in the dust. "See here— and here." As she spoke she hastily smeared the blood over the chHd's face and dragged him away from the priest, who had stepped forward. "No, no," he protested. " Those times are past." " Past ! " said the woman, with a flash of fury. " All the country knows that your own mother did it to you at Sartene, where you come from." The abbe made no answer, but, taking the child by the arm, dragged him gently away from his mother. With his other hand he sought in his pocket for a handkerchief. But he was a lone man, without a housekeeper, and the handkerchief was missing. The child looked from one to the other, laughing uncertainly, with his grimly decorated face. Then the priest stooped, and with the skirt of his cassock wiped the child's face. "There." he said to the woman, "take him home, for I hear the gendarmes coming." 12 THE ISLE OF UNREST. Indeed, the trottiug of horses and the clank of the long swinging sabres could be heard on the road below the village, and one by one the onlookers dropped away, leaving the Abbe Susini alone at the foot of the church steps. i |i ank of tlie road below pped away, the church ( 13 ) CHAPTER II. CHEZ CLISmEXT. " Commc on tst hcurcux quand on salt cc qu'on vcul I " It was the dinner hour at the Hotel Clement at Bastia ; and the event was of greater importance than the out- ward appearance of the house would seem to promise. For there is no promise at all about the house on the left-hand side of Bastia's one street, the Boulevard du Palais, which bears, as its only sign, a battered lamp with the word " Clement " printed across it. The ground floor is merely a rope and hemp warehouse. A small Corsican donkey, no bigger than a Newfoundland dog, lives in the basement, and passes many of his waking hours in what may be termed the entrance hall of the hotel, appearing to consider himself in some sort a concierge. The upper floors of the huge Genoese house are let out in large or small apartments to mysterious families, of which the younger members are always to be met carrying jugs carefully up and doVn the greasy, common staircase. 14 THE JSLE OP UNREST. TJie first floor is the Hotel Clement, or, to bo more correct, one is "chez Clement" on the first floor. "You stay with Clement," will be the natural remark of any on board the Marseilles or Leghorn steamer, on being told that the traveller disembarks at Bastia. "We shall meet to-night chez Clement," the oflicers say to each other on leaving the parade ground at four o'clock. "Dejeuner chez Clement," is the usual ending to a notice of a marriage, or a first communion, in the retit Bastiais, that greatest of all foolscap-size journals. It is comforting to reflect, in these times of hurried changes, that the traveller to Bastia may still find him- self Chez Clement— may still have to kick at the closed door of the first-floor flat, and find that door opened by Clement himself, always affable, always gentlemanly, with the same crumbs strewed carelessly down the same waistcoat, or, if it is evening time, in his spotless cook's dress. One may be sure of the same grave welcome, and the easy transition from grave to gay, the smiling, grand manner of conducting the guest to one of those vague and darksome bedrooms, where the jug and the basin never match, where the floor is of red tiles with a piece of uncertain carpet sliding hither and thither, with the shutters always shut, and the musti- ness of the middle ages hanging heavy in the air. For Bastia has not changed, and never will. And it is not , or, to be more rst floor, natural remark 3rn steamer, on at Bastia. it," the officers ground at four il ending to a union, in the p-size journals, les of hurried still find him- c at the closed oor opened by gentlemanly, sly down the in his spotless I same grave ve to gay, the uest to one of e the jug and of red tiles, I hither and id the musti- the air. For And it is not CHEZ CLEMENT. 15 only to be fervently hoped, but seems likely, that Clement will never grow old, and never die, but con- tinue to live and demonstrate the startling fact that one may be born and live all one's life in a remote, forgotten town, and still be a man of the world. The soup had been served precisely at six, and tlie four artillery officers were already seated at the square table near the fireplace, which was and is still ex- clusively the artillery table. The other habitues were m their places at one or other of the half-dozen tables that fill the room-two gentlemen from the Prefecture, a civil engineer of the projected railway to Corte' a commercial traveller of the old school, and, at the' corner table, farthest from the door, Colonel Gilbert of tlie Engineers. A clever man this, who had seen service in the Crimea, and had invariably distinguished hmiself whenever the opportunity occurred ; but he was one of those who await, and do not seek oppor- tunities. Perhaps he had enemie^ ,r, what is worse, no friends; for at the age of forty he found himself appointed to Bastia, one of the waste places of the War Office, where an inferior man would have done better. Colonel Gilbert was a handsome man, with a fair moustache, a high forehead, surmounted by thin receding, smooth haiiv and good-natured, idle eyes. He lunched and dined chez Clement always, and was 16 THE ISLE OF UNREST. frankly, good naturedly bored at Bastia. Ho hated Corsica, had no sympathy with the Corsican, and was a Northern Frenchman to the tips of liis long wliite fingers. "Your Bastia, my good Clement," he said to the host, who invariably came to the dining-room with the roast and solicited the opinion of each guest upon the dinner in a few tactful, easy words — " your Bastia is a sad place." This evening Colonel Gilbert was in a less talkative mood than usual, and exchanged only a nod with his artillery colleagues as he passed to his own small table. He opened his newspaper, and became interested in it at once. It was several days old, and had come by way of Nice and Ajaccio from Paris. All France was at this time eager for news, and every Frenchman studied the journal of his choice with that uneasiness which seems to foreshadow in men's hearts the approach of any great event. For this was the spring of 1870, when France, under the hitherto iron rule of her adventurer emperor, suddenly began to plunge and rear, while the nations stood around her wondering who should receive the first kick. The emperor was ill; the cheaper journals were already talking of his funeral. He was uneasy and restless, turning those dull eyes hither and thither over Europe— a man of inscrutable face and deep hidden ■ plans— perhaps the greatest stia. Hg hated orsican, and was liis long white he said to the 5-room with the icli guest upon — "your Bastia a less talkative a nod with his own small table. interested in it ad come by way France was at ncliman studied leasiness which ;he approach of pring of 1870, )n rule of her to plunge and wondering who aperor was ill; g of his funeral. :hose dull eyes L of inscrutable •s the greatest CHEZ CLI^MENT. j* aavcnturer who ever sat a throne. Condemned by a I;rench Court of Peers in 1840 to imprisonment for We, he went to Ham with the quiet question, ''Bnt i-vv long does perpetuity last in France ? " And ei.h years later ho was absolute master of the country ° • C^orsica in particular was watching events, for Corsica -3 c^we. She, ad come under t^^^ -aster. Instead of being numbered by hundreds, as they were before and are again now at the end of the entury core Th elechons were conducted more honestly than 1-d e er been before, and the Continental newspapers spoke hopefully of the dawn of civilization showin. ts among a people who have ever been lawless, havl ever loved war better than peac3. of Olmeta, h.mself an insatiable reader of newspapers a^en and ardent politician. Like the majo^ H; Corsicans, he was a staunch Bonapartist, and held Lt ^^e founder of that marvellous dynasty was the gr a^^ -towal^^ It was only because Napoleon III. was a Bonaparte tyranny and an iron rule suited better than equity or tolerance a people descended from the most and:!t:; I 18 THE ISLE OF UNREST. tlio fighting races, sjieaking a tonguo wlicrciii occur expressions of hate and strife that are Tuscan, Sicilian, Greek, Spanish, and Arabic. Now that the emperor's hand was losing its grip on the helm, there were many in Corsica keenly aliv<^ to the fact that any disturbance in France would probrbly lead to anarchy in the turbulent island. There ware even some who saw a hidden motive in the appointment of Colonel Gilbert as engineer officer to a fortified place that had no need of his services. Gilbert himself probably knew that his appointment had been made in pursuance of the pimperor's policy of road and rail. For Corsica was to be opened up by a railway, and would have none of it. And though to-day the railway from Bastia to Ajaccio is at last open, the station at Corte remains a fortified place with a loopholed wall around it. But Colonel Gilbert kept his own counsel. He sat, indeed, on the board of the struggling railway— a gift of the French Government to a de^^artment which has never paid its way, has always been an open wound. But he never spoke there, and listened to the fierce speeches of the local members with his idle, easy smile. He seemed to stand aloof from his new neighbours and their insular interests. He was, it appeared, a cultured man, and perhaps found none in this wild island who GuulJ uudurstuud hio tliuuglits. His attitude towards wherein occur iiscan, Sicilian, ing its grip on keenly alive to rvould probibly 1. There svcre ic appointment I fortified place is appointment nperor's policy : opened np by And though ccio is at last Ified place with iinsel. He sat, ■ail way— a gift lent which has a open wound, d to the fierce die, easy smile, neighbours and ired, a cultured ild island who /titude towards CHEZ CLEMENT. jg I.i. sun.om,di„g, ™, in a ,vori, tI,o usual huMcreut attitude of tl,e l.-reuchman i„ exile, rcadinj; o„ly French no«W" fi.xi„g l,i, attention only on France, a,„l mvaifug wtl, ,„ch paticuco as he could con„„„„d the moment to return thitlier. "Any news?" asl»l one of the artillery officers-a sub-heutenaut recently attached to his battery, a penui- ess possessor of an historic name. ,vho peri.aps had 'Ireams „ cai-ving his way through to the front again. The colonel shrugged his shoulders. '■ You may have the papers afterw.ards," he said • for i W..S not wise to discuss any news in a pnUic pace at ha tune. " See you at the Keunion, no doubt " And he did not speak again except to Clement who came round to take the opinion of each guest „po; the fare provided. ■■Passable," s.aid the colonel-" p.assable, my good Clement. But do you know, I could send yo; to pri for povuhngthis excellent leveret at this time of year Are there no game laws, my friend » " Co s ca chooses to ignore the g.ame laws. And th onel. havmg finished his coffee, buckled on his sH 1 e c7" r'.'t "" '"■"'""'" ^"-^^'^ "f -■«" -- once m!io rd '"?" ''"""' "''^^^' ''-- «>^^ the »ajo,.ty men and women, its history written on its '■'-■ On the high laud above the old port stands the •a 20 THE ISLE OF UiNIlEST. citadel, just as tlio Gcnooao merchant-advcnturei's l)laniicd it fivo hundred years ago. Beneath the citadel, and clustered round the port, is the little old Genoese town, no bigger than a village, which served for two hundred and fifty years as capital to an island in constant war, against which it had always to defend itself. It would seem that some hundred years ago, just before the island became nominally a French posses- sion, Bastia, for some reason or another, took it into its municipal head to grow, and it ran as it were all down the hill to that which is now the new harbour. It built two broad streets of tall Genoese houses, of which one somehow missed fire, and became a slum, while the other, with its great houses but half inhabited, is to-day the Boulevard du Palais, where fashionable Bastia promenades itself— when it is too windy, as it almost always is, to walk on the Place St. Nicholas — where all the shops are, and where the modern European neces- sities of daily life are not to be bought for love or money. There are, however, two excellent knife-shops in the Boulevard du Palais, where every description of stiletto may be purchased, where, indeed, the enterprising may buy a knife which will not only go shrewdly into a foe, but come right out on the other side — in front, that is to say, for no true Corsican is so foolish as to stab CIIEZ CLiiMKNT. nt-ad venture I'd Beneath the the little old , which served xl to an island ways to defend >^ear3 ago, just French posses- took it into its were all down tv harbour. It ouses, of which slum, while the .bited, is to-day ionable Bastia ^, as it almost )la3 — where all uropean neces- jht for love or fe-shops in the ption of stiletto iterprising may wdly into a foe, -in front, that Ush as to stab 21 nnywherc but in the bnck-and. protruding thu. will ;. splay some pleasing legend, such as "Vendetta'" or I serve my master," or "Viva Corsica." roughly en. graved on the long blade. There is a macaroni ware. Iiouse There are two of those mysterious Mediterranean Fov..n warehouses, with some ancient dried saZ hang.^^^^^ a tub of sardines, i .dilv am) v«f ;♦• , 1 1 rt, . , ' ° y^' """ y^W it would seem in- "mo,o„tIy,o„rea There i,,» tiny .ook.sh.,p.,i„„„:, : f 7 "' '""f'™- '>-l*'»'3 and a fly-bbwn copy „"f oa ,,,e on v,„,c„U,.re. And finally, an iron J„' er » 11 sell you anythmg b„t a bath, while ho thrive, on a Imly trade in percnasion-caps and g„„po«-dor. Colonel Gilbert did not pause to look at these owdder,ng shop.„ind„ws, for the si.ple reason tha I.e Inew every art' le there displayed He was, it will be remembered, a leisurely French- man, than whom there are few human beings of a 1 ea^Iy aroused attention. Any small street incide, -oed to make him i«use. He had the air oft: ™ tmg for a train, who knows that it will not eome hours yet He strolled down the boulevard, smok " «.th h ad raised to meet the sea-breeze upon tint deserted promenade, the Place St. Nieholas. Here he paused, and stood with hi., head .,li,htly -ln,ed to one side-an attitude usually eo„sider:d to 22 THE ISLE OP UNREST. be indicative of the artistic temperament, and admired the prospect. The " Place " was deserted, and in the middle the great statue of Napoleon stood staring blankly across the sea towards Elba. There is, whether the artist intended it or not, a look of stony amazement on this marble face as it gazes at the island of Elba lying pink and hazy a few miles across that rippled sea; for on this side of Corsica there is more peace than in the open waters of the Gulf of Lyons. " Surely," that look seems to say, " the world could never expect that puny island to hold me!* Colonel Gilbert stood and looked dreamily across the sea. It was plain to the most incompetent observer that the statue represented one class of men— those who make their opportunities ; while Gilbert, with his high and slightly receding forehead, his lazy eyes and good-natured mouth, was a fair type of that other class which may take advantage of opportunities that offer themselves. The majority of men have not even the pluck to do that, which makes it easy for mediocre people to get on in this world. Colonel Gilbert turned on his ' .^1 and walked slowly back to the Eeunion des Ot;' i<;rs— the military club which stands on the Place St. Nicholas immedi- ately behind the statue of Napoleon— a not too lively place of entertainment, with a billiard-room, a reading- room, and half a dozen iron tables and chairs on the ; '"^' CHEZ CLEMENT. 23 , and admired id, and in tlie stood staring ;re is, whether ny amazement sland of Elba } that rippled is more peace ,''ons. le world could nily across the stent observer )f men — those ilbert, with his lazy eyes and hat other class [ties that offer I not even the ' for mediocre I and walked I— the military holas immedi- , not too lively torn, a reading- chairs on the pavement in front of the house. Here the colonel seated himself, called for a liqueur, and sat watchin^ a young moon rise from the sea beyond the Islet of Capraja. It was the month of February, and the southern sprmg was already in the air. The twilight is short m these latitudes, and it was now nearly ni-ht In Corsica, as in Spain, the coolest hour is between sunset and nightfoll. With complete darkness there comes a warm air from the ground. This was now beginning J to make itself felt ; but Gilbert had not only the pav(^ ment, but the whole Place St. Nicholas to himself. There are two reasons why Corsicaus do not walk abroad at night-the risk of a chill and the risk of meeting one's enemy. Colonel Gilbert gave no tliought to these matters, hut sat «th crossed legs and one spurred heel thrown ont, contentedly waiting as if for that train which he must assuredly catch, or for that opportunity, perhaps, which was so long in coming that he no longer seemed to look for it. And while he sat there a man came clanhng from the town-a tired man, with heavy foet aud the rron heels of the labourer. He passed Colonel Mber t, and then, seeming to have recognised him by the light of the moon, paused, and came back •■Monsieur le colonel,- he said, without raising his hand to his h.at, as a Frenchman would have done ;;j^ 24 THE ISLE OF UNREST. " Yes," replied the colonel's pleasant voice, with no ring of recognition in it. "It is Mattel— the driver of the St. Florent diligence," explained the man, who, indeed, earned his badge of office, a long whip. " Of course ; but I recognized you almost at once," said the colonel, with that friendliness which is so noticeable in the Eepublic to-day. " You have seen me on the road often enough," said the man, " and I have seen you, Monsieur le Colonel, riding over to the Casa Perucca." "Of course." " You know Perucca's agent, Pietro Andrei ? " " Yes." " He was shot in the back on the 01m eta road this afternoon." Colonel Gilbert gave a slight start. "Is that so?" he said at length, quietly, after a pause. "Yes," said the diligence-driver; and without further comment he walked on, keeping well in the middle of the road, as it is wise to do when one has enemies. r'oice, with no mt diligence," [ his badfje of ( 25 ) nost at once," I which is so enough," said ur le Colonel, dreil" meta road this uietly, after a and without Qg well in the when one has CHAPTER III, A BY-rATir. For an idle-minded man, Colonel Gilbert was early astir the next morning, and rode out of the town soon after sunrise, following the Vescovato road, and chattin- pleasantly enough with the workers already on foot and m saddle on their way to the great plain of Biguglia where men may labour all day, though, if they°sp°end so much as one night there, must surely die. For the eastern coast of Corsica consists of a series of level plains where malarial fever is as rife as in any African swamp, and the traveller may ride through a fertile land where eucalyptus and palm grow amid the vine- yards, and yet no human being may live after sunset The labourer goes forth to his work iu the mornin.^ accompanied by his dog, carrying the ubiquitous double! barrelled gun at full cock, and returns in the evening to his mountain village, where, at all events, he may breathe God's air without fear. il- 26 THE ISLE OF UNREST. The colonel turned to the right a few miles out, following the road which leads straight to that mountain wall which divides all Corsica into the " near " and the " far " side — into two peoples, speaking a different dialect, following slightly different customs, and only hnding themselves united in the presence of a common foe. The road mounts steadily, and this Fehruary morning had broken grey and cloudy, so that the colonel found himself in the mists that hang over these mountains during the spring months, long before he reached the narrow entrance to the grim and sound- less Lancone Detile. The heavy clouds had nestled down the mountains, covering them like a huge thick- ness of wet cotton- wool. The road, which is little more than a mule-path, is cut in the face of the rock, and, far below, the river runs musically down to Lake Biguglia. The colonel rode alone, though he could perceive another traveller on the winding road in front of him — a peasant in dark clothes, with a huge felt hat, astride on a little active Corsican horse — sure of foot, quick and nervous, as fiery as the men of this strange land. The defde is narrow, and the sun rarely warms the river that runs through the depths where the foot of man can never have trodden since God fashioned this earth. Colonel Gilbert, it woul' appear, was accustomed to solitude. Perhaps he had known it A BY-PATH. few miles out, raighfc to that rsica into the Boples, speaking Fferont customs, in the presence eadily, and this [ cloudy, so that } that hang over iths, long before Trim and sound- ds had nestled ke a huge thick- ch is little more ,he rock, and, far 3 Lake Biguglia. could perceive in front of him huge felt hat, se — sure of foot, L of this strange irely warms the where the foot ! God fashioned .1' appear, was had known it 27 so well during I.ig sojourn in this island of silence and loneliness, that he had fallen a victim to its dangerous charms, and being indolent by nature had discovered that it is less trouble to be alone than to cultivate the society of man. Tlie Lancone Defile has to this day an evil name. It is not wise to pass througli it alone, for some have entered one end never to emerge at the other. Colonel Gilbert pressed his heavy charger, and gained rapidly on the horseman in front of him. When he was within two hundred yards of him, at the highest part of the pass and throu^di the narrow defile, he sought in the inner pocket of his^unic --for in those days French officers possessed no other clothes than their uniform-and produced a letter He examined it, crumpled it between his fingers and rubbed it across his dusty knee so that it looked old and travel-stained at once. Then, with the letter in us hand, he put spurs to his horse and galloped after the horseman in front of him. The man turned almost at once in his saddle, as if care rode behind him there. "Hi! mou auu." c,i«l the colonel, holdmj. the letter lugh above his head. '.You have, I imagine, dropped th.a letter?" he added, as he approached the other wlio now awaited him. ' "Where? No: hut I have dropped no letter. Where was It? Ou the road?" 28 THE ISLE OF UNREST. " Down there," answered the colonel, pointing back with his whip, and handing over the letter with a final air as if it were no affair of his, " Perucca," read the man, slowly, in the manner of one having small dealings with pens and paper, " Mattel reriicca — at Olmeta." "Ah," said the colonel, lighting a cigarette. Ho had apparently not troubled to read the address on the envelope. In such a thinly populated country as Corsica, faces are of higher import than in crowded cities, where types are mingled and individuality soon fades. The colonel had already recognized this man as of Olmeta — one of those, perhaps, who had stood sm king on the " Place " there when Pietro Andrei crawled towards the fountain and failed to reach it. " I am going to Olmeta," said the man, " and you also, perhaps." " No ; I am exercising my horse, as you see. I shall turn to the left at the cross-roads, and go towards Murato. I may come round by Olmeta later— if I lose my way." The man smiled grimly. In Corsica men rarely laugh. " You will not do that. You know this country too well for that. You are the officer connected with the railway. I have seen you looking through your T. el, pointing back etter with a final u the manner of d paper, " Mattei I cigarette. Ho le address on the as Corsica, faces [ties, where types es. The colonel ^ Olmeta — one of \ on the " Place " irds the fountain 3, " and you also, 'ou see. I shall and go towards \ later— if I lose lica men rarely this country too connected with ig through your A BY-PATH. 29 instruments at the earth, in tlie mountains, in the rocks, and down in the plains— everywhere." " It is my work," answered the colonel, tappine Casa Perucca by one of my ehildren. I wonder " -he paused, and, taking the letter from his jaeket poeket, turned it curiously in his hand-" I ™„der what is in it ? " "onuer The colonel shrugged his shoulders and turned his torse s head. It was, it appeared, no business of his to mcjune what the letter contained, or to care whether it be dehvered or not. Indeed, he appeared to have fcrgotten all about it. "Good day,,ny friend-good day," he said absent- mindedly. And an hour later he rode up to the Casa Perucca, |l ^ il 4 f 30 THE ISLE OF UNREST. having approached that ancient house by a winding path from the valley below, instead of by the high- road from the Col San Stefano to Ohneta, which runs past its very gate. The Casa Periicca is ratlier singularly situated, and commands one of the most wonderful views in this wild land of unrivalled prospects. The liigh-road curves round the lower slope of tlie mountains as round the base of a sugar-loaf, and is cut at times out of the sheer rock, while a little lower it is begirt by huge trees. It forms as it were a cornice, perched three thousand feet above the valley, over which it commands a view of mountain and bay and inlet, but never a house, never a church, and the farthest point is beyond Calvi, thirty miles away. There is but one spur— a vast buttress of fertile land thrown against the mountain, as a buttress may be thrown against a church tower. Tiie Casa Perucca is built upon this spur of land, and the Perucca estate— that is to say, the land attached to the Casa (for property is held in small tenures in Corsica)— is all that lies outside the road. In the middle ages the position would have been unrivalled, for it could be attacked from one side only, and doubtless the Genoese Bank of St. George must have had bitter reckonings with some dead and forgotten rebel, who had his stronghold where the Casa now stands. The present house is Italian in appearance— Mit 't A BY-PATPI. Y a winding ij the Iiigh- wliich runs L is ratlier )f the most 3cl prospects, ope of the , and is cut lower it is 3 a cornice, valley, over lid bay and 1, and the ailes away, fertile land 3S may be iur of land, the land 1 in small 3 the road, have been s side only, eorge must d forgotten Casa now pearance — 31 I a long, low, voranJuhed I.ou.c, built in f.vo part, ., if nn„„f.„ I , , """""'S'- ll'ere are occasional entry houses hkc it to be found in Tuscany, notably ou the heights behind Fiesole The wall defining the peninsula is ten feet hi^h and ; ""■" "'fy °" "- -dside. so that tl,: Ca Perucca, with its great wooden gate, turns a very eoU fact, the b St house north of Calvi, and the site of it "as lot :i "'; f^ ""'^ "'^' -^ "'« «■«'-'■ "0 lasselot, which stands deserted down in the vallev a out of tl w rid, for no high-road passes near it. Benea h the Casa Perucea, on the northern slope of shoulder, the ground falls away rapidly in a^il of tony chutes, and to the south and west there "re vidences of the land having once been laid out ^ to™., the distant days when Corsicanswerrl: ont to bl the most fertile soil in Europe-alwavs cspting the Island of Majorea-but now in the 21 t e third empire, when every Corsican of any worth W found employment in France, there were nolo t! Vasselot, which is practicable for a trained ho.se ■A' ^T M 1 .' , s i'y If t i I J ^ t 82 THE ISLE OF UNREST. And Colonel Gilbert luust have known tJiis, for he had described a circle in the wooded valley in order to gain it. He must also have been to tlic Casa Perucca many times before, for he rang the bell suspended outside the door built in the thickness of the southern wall, where a horseman would not have expected to gain admittance. This door was, however, constructed without steps on its inner side, for Corsica has this in common with Spain, that no man walks where he can ride, so that steps are rarely built where a gradual slope will prove more convenient. There was something suggestive of a siege in the way in which the door was cautiously opened, and a man- servant peeped forth. "Ah I " he said, with relief, " it is the Colonel Gilbert. Yes ; monsieur may see him, but no one else. Ah ! but he is furious, I car tell you. He is in the verandah- like a wild baast. I will take monsieur's horse." Colonel Gilbert went through the palms and bamboos and orange-trees alone, towards the house; and there, walking up and down, and stopping every moment to glance towards the door, of which the bell still sounded, he perceived a large, stout man, clad in light tweed,' wearing an old straw hat and carrying a thick stick. "Ah ! " cried Perucca, "so you have heard the news. And you have come, I hope, to apologize for your miser- able France. It is thus that yuu govern Corsica, with I for he had fler to gain ucca many Dntside the rail, where draittanco. b steps on imon with le, so that vill prove a tlie way d a man- si Gilbert. Ah! but randah — le." bamboos ad there, Dment to sounded, it tweed, stick, he news. ir miser- ica, with A BY-PATH. 33 I a Cml Service made up of a parcel of old women and you g counter-jumpers I I have no patience with your ^^: and your youn, men with flowing nee Jties and W^oves. Are we a gi.ls' school to be governed thus? And you-such great soldiers! Yes I will am. that the IVench are great soldiers, but' you no know how to rule Corsica. A tight hand, colonel. ^faT" ''^"'"•''' ^-^ ^- stamped his foot vvi I a decisiveness that laade the verandah tremble, liie colonel laughed pleasantly. '•They want some men of your type," he said. Ah! cried Perucca, "I would rule them, for they are cowards; they are afraid of me. Do you know, t.iey had the impertinence to send one of their threaten- i"g letters to poor Andrei before they shot him. They sent him a sheet of paper with a cross drawn on it l^:^'r''''^''''^^^- They do not send that He stopped short, and gave a jerk of the head. There was somewhere in his fierce old heart a cord that vi- brated to the touch of these rude mountain customs • for Jie man was a Corsican of long descent and purj blood. Of such the fighting nations have made good t:zz:'' '-'' '''' '- ^- -^^ - -^^^ " Or you could do it," went on Perucca, with a shrewd nod, looking at him beneath shaggy brows. " The velvet <1 1 — 34 THE ISLE OF UNRKST. glove-ell ? That would surprise them, for they have never felt the touch of one. You, with your laugh and idle ways, and behind them the pcrcention-the per- ception of the devil— or a woman." The colonel had drawn forward a baslcet chair and ^vas leaning back in it with crossed legs, and one' foot swinging '' I ? Heaven forbid ! No, my friend ; I require too little. It IS only the discontented who get on in the world. But, mind you, I would not mind trying on a small scale. I have often thought I should liice to buy a little property on this side of the island, and cultivate it as they do up in Cap Corse. It would be an amusement for my exile, and one could perhaps make the butter for one's bread-green Chartreuse instead of yellow eh ? " He paused, and seeing that the other made no reply continued in the same careless strain. "If you or one of the other proprietors on this side ot the mountains would sell— perhaps." But Perucca shook his liead resolutely. " No ; we should not do that. You, who have had to do with the railway, must know that. We will let our land go to rack and ruin, we will starve it and not cultivate it, we will let the terraces fall away after the rams, we will live miserably on the finest soil in Europe —we may starve, but we won't sell." had . -C'V or tliey have lur laugli and on — the per- et chair, and and one foot r require too it on in the d trying on 3uld like to island, and [fc would be lid perhaps ChcTtreuse le no reply, n this side ave had to nil let our t and not 7 after the in Europe A BY-PATH. 85 ft Clbcrt chd not ,,eem to bo listening very intently w„3 ,™telnng ti.e young bamboos now bursting into the r ea Lory new green, as tl.ey «-aveJ to ami fro »„l,e bluesly. His Lead was s.igbtly inelin to 0.10 side, l„s eyes were contemplative. "It fa a pity," 1,0 saiJ, after a pause, •■ that Andrei ;::C:,,"^"-<'-'''-boenin0.n,etaehureU. tick on the wooden floor, "that Andrei was so .entlo "th them. He drove the cattle off ,1„. I.„d I Tad '-e driven them into my own sneds, and to die owners to eome and take them. He was too eas^oi ».ld.n his manners. Look at me-they donCd »o their threatening letters. You do not find anv "osses chalked on my door-eh » " ^ And indeed, as • ,„od there, with his square :: r " r' '"™« "-^ '''^■' "-^ ^^-^ ^a": ances ors, and was not a man to be trifled with. Eh-what?" he asked of the servant who l„d PProached timorously, hearing a letter on a t y J me ? .Something about Andrei, from those fooL of gendarmes, no doubt." And he to:^ open the envelope which Colonel Gilbert had handed to the peasant a couple of hours earlier in •'I r 36 TUE ISLE OF UNREST. f the Lancoue Defile. He fixed his eye-ghisses upon his nose, clumsily, with one hand, and then unfolded the letter. It was merely a sheet of blank paper, with a cross drawn upon it. His face suddenly blazed red with anger. His eyes glared at the paper through the glasses placed crookedly upon his nose. " Holy name ! " he cried. " Look at thig^this to me ' The dogs ! " The colonel looked at the paper with a shrug of the shoulders. " You will have to seU," he suggested lightly; and glancing up at Perucca's face, saw something there that made him leap to his feet. "HuUoa ! Here," he said quickly—" sit down." And as he forced Perucca into the chair, his hands were already at the old man's collar. And in five minutes, in the presence of Colonel Gilbert and two old servants, Mattel Perucca died. Loi ( 37 ) ses upon his infolded the aper, with a . His eyes d crookedly -this to me ! Iirug of the ghtly; and I there that re," he said , his hands Qd in five t and two CHAPTER IV. A TOSS-UP. " One can be but what one ia born." If any one had asked the Count Lorv de Vasselot wlio and what he was, he would probably have answered that he was a member of the English Jockey Club. For he held that that distinction conferred greater honour upon him than the accident of his birth, which enabled him to claim for grandfather the first Count de Vasselot, one of Murat's aides-de-camp, a brilliant, dashmg cavalry officer, a boyhood's friend of the great Napoleon. Lory de Vasselot was, moreover, a cavalry officer himself, but had not taken part in any of the enterprises of an emperor who held that to govern Frenchmen it is necessary to provide them Mdth a war every four years. "Bon Dieu!" he told his friends, '■ I did not sleep lor two nights after I was elected to that great club." Lory de Vasselot, moreover, did his best to live up 38 THE ISLE OP UNREST. V- to his position. He never, for instance, had his clothes made in Paris. His very gloves came from a little shop in Newmarket, where only the seamiest and clumsiest of hand-coverings are provided, and horn buttons are a sine qua non. To desire to be mistaken for an Englishman is a sure sign that you belong to the very best Parisian set and Lory de Vasselofs position was an enviable one' for so long as he kept his hat on and stood quite still and did not speak, he might easily have been some one connected with the British turf. It must, of course be understood that the similitude of de Vasselofs desire was only an outward one. We all think that every other nation would fain be English, but as all other countries have a like pitying contempt for us, there is perhaps no harm done. And it is to be presumed that If some candid friend were to tell de Vasselot that the moment he uncovered his hair, or opened his lips, or made a single movement, he was hopelessly and un- mistakably French from top to toe, he would not have been sorely distressed. It will be remembered that the Third Napoleon-the last of that strange dynasty-raised himself to the Imperial throne-made himself, indeed, the most powerful monarch in Europe-by statecraft, and not by power of sword. With the magic of his name he touched the heart of the most impetuous people in the A TOSS-UP. his clothes >m a littlo miest and and ]iorn iman is a arisian set, aable one, quite still some one course, be ^t's desire hat every all other 5, there is imed that '' that the is lips, or and lin- net have eon—the f to the le most and not lame he ie in the 39 world and upon the uncertain, and, as it is ^vhispered not always honest suffrage of the plebiscite, climbed to the unstable height of despotism. For years he ruled France with a sort of careless cynicism, and it was only when his health failed that his hand ber^an to relax its grip. In the scramble for place and power the grandson of the first Count de Vasselot mi^ht easily have gained . ynze, but Lory seemed to ha°ve no ambition in U-^t direction. Perhaps he had no taste for ministry or bureau, nor cared to cultivate the subtle knowledge of court and cabinet, which meant so much at this time. His tastes were rather those of the camp; and, failing war, he had turned his thoughts to sport. He had hunted in England and fished in ^orway. In the winter of 18G9, he went to Africa for big game, and, returning in the early weeks of March found France and his dear Paris gayer, more insouciant' more brilliant than ever. For the empire had never seemed more secure than It did at this moment, had never stood higher in the eyes of the world, had never boasted so lavish a court Pans was at her best, and Lory de Vasselot exclaimed aloud, after the manner of his countrymen, at the sight of the young buds and spring flowers around the Lac m the Bois de Boulogne, as he rode there this fresh morning. He had only arrived in Paris the night before, and, 40 li THE ISLE OP UXREST. "One will at all events see one's f.-ionds in tl.o weed hesaul. B„t riding there in an ,.ltra-E,vd -" of cords at the fasluonable hou, he fouad t,; had somehow missed the fashion. The alleys, whiel h d hoen pop^-ar a year ago, were no. deserted f r , e >3 nothmg so fickle as social taste, and the riders w! all at the other side of the Eoute de Longclamp lory t„™ed his horse's head in that direetln and was nd.ng leisurely, when he heard an a„th rttive vo,ce apparently directed toward, himself. He 2 L one of the narrow allies, "reserved for cavalie s" a,d urnmg perceived that the soft sandy grave. W ': vented hrs hearmg the approach of other riders-a co2; \~- ^"^ '"' "°-"'^ "o-e was Cnd oont. 1. It was a little, fiery Arab, leaping hiX ' the a,r at each stride, and timing a nltv f™ ^ --Hhe head at the worst mom'enV^r^r There was no time to do anything but touch his own rarned charger with the spur and gallop ahea h° turned in his saddle. TI,e Arih ».. weighty rider who were giving chase. Th Tom' w^h a set white face, was jerking at the bridle Jt U^r left baud r„ an odd, mechanical, feebie way, while^I i t tlio loan of ntis ia the tra-English ind that ho . which Iiad ; for there riders were imps. action, and fchoritative fie was ia iers," and, had pre- riders— a IS beyond high in forward ts rider's his own ad. He on hira, I'se and woman, I'ith iier ile with A TOSS-UP. 41 hor nghfc, she held to the pommel of her saddle. But she was swaying forward in an unmistakable manner She was only half conscious, and in a moment musi Lory glanced behind her, and saw a stout built man with a fair moustache and a sunburnt face, riding his' great horse m the stirrups like a jockey his face alight With that sudden excitement which'.mLm: blazes m hght blue eyes. He made a ,uick gesture which said as plainly as words- " You must act, and quickly ; I can do nothin. " And the three thundered on. The rides in th^e Bois tiee . If Lory de Vasselot pulled across, he would rs low branch must of a necessity batter in its rider's ^ead. He rode on, gradually edging across to what in i'i-ance is the wrong side of the road. ^ ^j^d on, madame ; hold on," he said, in a quick low But the woman did not seem to hear him. She bad ^^Ppe the bridle now, and the Arab had throL forwarj over its head. Tlien Lory gradually reined in. The woman was ;: '"^ '.; t e saddle a. the Arab thundered alon^s "e T v,nd blewhaek the long habit, and showedlfe r ioot to be hrmly in the stirnip. . 1 'Is I- >i * 1 I5 '' ill. Wi) I kmm mm ^^W9R !»» *'Wm 1 42 THE ISLE OF UNREST, ! E ^ii "Stirrup, madame!" shouted Loiy, as if she were miles away. " Mon Dieu, your stirrup ! " But she only looked ahead with glazed eyes. Then, edging nearer with a delic^e spur, de Vasselot shook off his own right stirrup, and, leaning down, lifted the fainting woman with his right arm clean out of the saddle. He rested her weight upon his thigh, and, feeling cautiously with his foot, found her stirrup and kicked it free. He pulled up slowly, and, drawing aside, allowed the lady's companion to pass him at a steady gallop after the Arab. The lady was now in a dead faint, her dark red hair hanging like a rope across de Vasselot's arm. She was, fortunately, not a big woman; for it was no easy position to find one's self in, on the top, thus, of a large horse with a senseless burden and no help in sight. He managed, however, to dismount, and rather breath- lessly carried the lady to the shade of the trees, where he laid her with her head on a mound of rising turf, and, lifting aside her hair, saw her face for the first time. "Ah! That dear baroness!" he exclaimed; and, turning, he found himself bowing rather stiffly to the' gentleman, who had now returned, leading the runaway horse. He was not, it may be mentioned, the baron. While the two men were thus regarding each other in a polite silence, the baroness opened a pair of if she were yes. de Vasselot down, lifted ;lean out of 3 thigh, and, stirrup and ad, drawincr 5S him at a rk red hair arm. She ras no easy 5, of a large p in sight. !ier breath- rees, where rising turf, •r the first med; and, iffly to the e runaway e baron, ^ach other a pair of A TOSS-UP. 43 remarkably bright brown eyes, at first with wonder and then with understanding, and finally with wonde; agam when they lighted on de Vasselot ^^^1-he cried. ''But where have you fallen "It must have been from heaven, baroness," he rci^ied, "for I assuredly came at the right moment." He stood looking down at he.-a lithe, neat, rather toTlLT "^^^^^^--^^-ttend'tohis S])e rose to her feet and smoothed her habit ''Ah, good ! " she laughed. '' There is no harm done B.. you saved my life, my dear Lory. One cannot I-ve two opnnons as to that. If it were not that the colonel . watching us, I should embrace you. Bu have not introduced you. This is Colonel Gilbert^ my dear and good cousin. Lory de Vasselot. The colonel .s from Bastia, by the way, and the Count de Vasselot pretends to be a Corsican. I niention it because it is only friendly to tell you that you have comm^r- ''°'' "'''' "'' ''""'^"" """^ '"^ ^''''''''^' ^^ Slie laughed as she spoke; then became suddenly grave, and sat down again with her hand to her eyes lin. n 7^/°'"° '" ^'^'''" '^' ^^^^^^' ^ith ghastly hps that tried to smile, '^.nd nobody but you two IS i| I il 44 THE ISLE OF UNREST. m i :l 3 i "It is the reaction," said Colonel Gilbert, in his Boothing way. But he exchanged a quick glance with de Vasselot. " It will pass, baroness." " It is well to remember at such a moment that one is a sportswoman," suggested de Vasselot. "And that one has de Vasselot blood in one's veins, you mean. You may as well say it." She rose as she spoke, and looked from one to the other with a brave laugh. " Bring me that horse," she said. De Vasselot conveyed by one inimitable gesture that he admired her spirit, but refused to obey her. Colonel Gilbert smiled contemplatively. Ke was of a different school— of that school of Frenchmen which owes its existence to Napoleon Ill.-impassive, almost taciturn —more British than the typical Briton. De Vasselot, on the contrary, was quick and vivacious. His fine-' cut face and dark eyes expressed a hundred things that his tongue had no time to put into words. He was hard and brown and sunburnt, which at once made him manly despite his slight frame. "Ah," he cried, with a gay laugh, "that is better. But seriously, you know, you should have a patent stirrup " He broke off, described the patent stirrup in three gestures, how it opened and released the foot. He showed the rider falling, the horse galloping away, the released lady-rider rising to her feet and satisfying iJberfc, in his c glance with lent that one 3od in one's j." She rose e other with e said, gesture that ler. Colonel 3f a different ich owes its lost taciturn De Vasselot, His fine- things that '■s. He was once made t is better. e a patent ip in three foot. He away, the satisfying A TOSS-UP. 45 'I herself that no bones were broken -all in three more gestures. " Voila ! " he said ; " I shall send you one." "And you as poor-as poor," said the baroness, whose husband was of the new nobility, which is based as all the world knows, on solid manufticture. "My friend, you cannot afford it." " I cannot afford to lose you," he said, with a sudden gravity, and with eyes which, to the uninitiated, would undoubtedly have conveyed the impression that she was the whole world to him. "Besides," he added, as an after-thought, " it is only sixteen francs." The baroness threw up her gay brown eyes. "Just Heaven," she exclaimed, "what it is to be able to mspire such affection -to be valued at sixteen francs ! " Then-for she was as quick and changeable as hiai- self-she turned, and touched his arm with her thickly gloved hand. " Seriously, my cousin, I cannot thank you and you. Colonel Gilbert, for your promptness and your skill. And as to my stupid husband, you know, he las no words; when I tell him, he will only grunt behind his great moustache, and he will never thank you ^^ and will never forget. Never! P.emember tuat. And with a wave of the riding-whip, whicli was attached to her wrist, she described eternity. V !l I. i Mm l' ! w^l:- ^ 1 IHhIw'' 4r, THE ISLE OP UNKEST. Do Aa.,3oIot turnol ,vith a deprecatory el.rug of tl,e shoulders and busied hi.u.elf with the girths of his saddle. At tlre toueh and the sight of the buckles, his eyes I^ooame grave and earnest. And it is not only Irenchmen wiro eherish this eult of the horse, making false gods of saddle and bridle, and a sacred temple of t .0 harness-room. Very seriously de Vassolot shifted the s.de-saddle from the Arab to his own lazgo and gentle horse-a wise old charger with a Eoman nose who never wasted his mettle in park tricks, but served honestly the Government that p«id his forage _ The Baroness de Melide watched the tansaction m respectful silence, for she too took & sporl very sonously, and had attended a course of lectures at I n mg-sohool on the art of keeping ar.d using harness. Hr colour was now retnrniug-that brilliant, delicate colour wluch so often accompanies dark red hair-and she gave a little sigh of resignation Colonel Gilbert looked at her, but said nothin. He omea to admire he, in the same oontemplat ^ w!y at he had admired the moon rising behind the is Z of Capraja from the Place St. NichoLas in Bastia. De Vasselot noted the sigh, and glanced sharply at her over the shoulder of the big charger. " Of *hat are you thinking ? " he said. " Of the millennium, mon ami." " The millennium ? " A Toss-ur. shrug of tlie girths of his i buckles, liis is not only orse, making eel temple of 3elot shifted n large and 'oman nose, , but served transaction sport very ctures at a ng harness. nt, delicate hair— and ■hing. He lative way the island istia. iharply at 47 " Yes," she answered, gathering the bridle ; " when women shall perhaps be allowed to bo natural. Our mothers played at being afraid-we play at being courageous." As she spoke she placed a neat foot in Colonel Gilbert's hand, who lifted lur without effort to the saddle. De Vasselot mounted the Arab, and they rodo slowly homewards by way of the Avenue de Lon-- champs, through the Torte Dauphine, and up thit which is now the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, which Avas quiet enough at this time of day. The baroness was inclined to be silent. She had been more shaken than she cared to confess to two soldiers. Colonel Gilbert probably saw this, for he began to make con- versation with de Vasselot. "You do not come to Corsica," he said. " I have never been there— shall never go there " answered de Vasselot. "Tell me-is it not a terrible place ? The end of the world, I am told. My mother " -he broke off with a gesture of the utmost clespair. "She is dead!" he interpolated-" always told me that it was the most terrible place in tlie world. At my father's death, more than thirty years ngo, she quitted Corsica, and came to live in Paris, where I was born, and where, if God is good, I shall die.'' "My cousin, you talk too much of death," put in the baroness, seriously. lii uiMi 48 THE ISLE OF UNIIEST. " As between sokliers, baroness," replied do Vasselot gaily. " It i3 our trade. You know the island well' colonel ? " ' "^N-o, I cannot' say that. But I know the Chateau du Vasselot." "i^ow, that is interesting; and I who scarcely know the address ! Near Calvi, is it not ? A waste of rock, and behnid each rock at least one bandit-so my dear mother assured me." " It might be cultivated," answered Colonel Gilbert indifferently. "It might be made to yield a smali return. I have often thought so. I have even thought of whiKng away my exile by attempting some such scheme. I once contemplated buying a piece of land on that coast to try. Perhaps you would sell ? " " Sell ! " laughed de Vasselot. " No ; I am not such a scoundrel as that. I would toss y, ,„ or it, my dear colonel ; I would toss you for it, if y. ■• ,ke." And as they turned out of the avenue into one of the palatial streets that run towards the Avenue Victor Hugo, he made the gesture of throwing a coin into the air. I Ic Vasselot, slantl well, le Chateau ( 49 ) ^< *cely know ;g of rocks, my dear il Gilbert, 1 a small ave even ;ing some 1 piece of 1 sell ? " not such my dear one of le Victor into the i CHAPTER V. IN THE RUE DU CHERCHE-MIDI. " II no faut jnmais ee Inigser trap voir, memo Ji ceux qui iions nimcnt." It was not very definitely known what Mademoisello Brun taught in the School of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart in the Rue du Cherche-Midi in Paris. For it is to be feared that Mademoiselle Brun knew nothing except the world ; and it is precisely that form of knowledge which is least cultivated in a convent school. " She has had a romance," whispered her bright- eyed charges, and lapsed into suppressed giggles at the mere mention of such a word in connection with a little woman dressed in rusty black, with thin grey hair, a thin grey face, and a yellow neck. It would seem, however, that there is a point where even a mother-superior must come down, as it were, into the market-place and meet the world. That point IS where the convent purse rattles thinly and the mother-superior must face hunger. It had, in fact'^ E i 50 THE ISLE OP UNREST. been intimated to the conductors of the School of the Sisterhood of the Sacred Heart by the ladies of the quai^er of St. Germain, that the convent teaching taught too little of one world and too much of anotheit And the mother-superior, being a sensible woman agreed to engage a certain number of teachers from the outer world. Mademoiselle Brun was vaguely entitled an instructress, while Mademoiselle Denise Lan^e bore the proud title of mathematical mistress Mademoiselle Brun, with her compressed mouth her wrinkled face, and her cold hazel eyes, accented the situation, as we have to accept most situations' in this world, merely because there is no choice. "What can you teach ? " asked the soft-eyed mother- superior. "Anything," replied Mademoiselle Brun, with a direct gaze, which somehow cowed the nun. "She has had a romance," whispered some war. of fourteen, when Mademoiselle Brun first appeared in the schoolroom; and thd became the accepted lec^.nd regarding her. ° "What are you saying of me ? " she asked one day when her ra.ner sudden appearance caused silence at a moment when silence was not compulsory. "That yoa once had a romance, mademoiselle" answered some daring girl. "Ah!" >cIiool of thu 'adies of the !nt teachiui; o I of another, ble woman, ers from the lely entitled ■ Lange bore mouth, her ccepted the ons in this 'ed mother- n, with a ne wag of )peared in ;ed legf^nd one day, silence at moiselle." IN THE liUE DU CUERCIIE-MIDI. 51 And perhaps the dusky wrinkles lapsed into gentler hues, for some one had the audacity to touch mademoi- selle's hand witli a birdlike tap of one finger. "And you must tell it to us." For there were no nuns present, and mademoiselle was suspected of having a fine contempt for the most strmgent of the convent laws. [ "IsTo." "But why not, mademoiselle ? " "Because the real romances are never told," renlied Mademoiselle Brun. But that was only her way, perhaps, of concealing the fact that there was nothing to tell. She spoke in a low voice, for her class shared the lonr. school- room this afternoon with the mathematical class The room did not lend itself to description, for it had bare walls and two long windows looking down disconsolately upon a courtyard, where a .rev cat sunned herself in the daytime and bewailed her lot at night. Who, mdeed, would be a convent cat ? At the far end of the long room Mademoiselle f^el ?!•"" -P--t-ding. with an earnest face, the studies of five young ladies. It was only necessary to look at the respective heads of the pupils to conclude that these young persons were en Jed in mathematical problems, for there is nothin;::'ir composing to the hair as arithmetic. Mademoiselle s ' 11! I ' !| lU.i i 53 THE ISLE OF UNnEST. Lange herself seemed no more capable of steeriiK, a course through a double equation than her pupils °f„r she was young and pretty, with laughing hps and'fair hair, now somewhat ruffled by her calculations. When however, she looked up. it might have been perceived that her glance was clear and penetrating Ttoe was no more popular person in the Convent of the Sacred Heart than Denise Lange, and in no walk of l.fe rs personal attractiveness so much appreciated as :n a g,rls school, It is only later in life that c« ^mo^scUa begin to find that their neighbour's beauty but skm-deep. The nuns-" fond fools," Mademoi- selle Brun called them-concluded that because Denise with a wUd and exceedingly ephemeral affection be- cause she wa, little more than a girf herself, and was Me themselves, liable to moments of deep arithmetical' despondency Mademoiselle Brun admitted that she was fond of Denise because she was her second cousin and that was all. " ' When worldly mammas, essentially of the second empire, who perhaps had doubts respecting a purelv conventual education, made in<,uiries on this s'lbjeet the mother-superior, feeling veiy wicked and worldly' usually made mention of the mathematical mistress' Denise Lange, daughter of the great and good general' who was killed at Solferino. And no otlter word o f steering a f pupils, for lips and fair ons. When, n perceived Convent of in no walk predated as fe that CCS ur's beauty ' Mademoi- use Denise i^ed Denise fection, be- f, and was, "ithmetical ■ that slie ad cousin, IN THE RUE DU CHERCHE-MIDI. 5$ identification was needed. For some keen-witted artist had painted a great salon picture of, not a youn- paladin, but a fat old soldier, eighteen stone, on his liuge charger, with shaking red cheeks and blazin- eyes, standing in his stirrups, bursting out of his tighl tunic, and roaring to his c?ifants to follow him to their death. It was after tlie battle of Solferino that Mademoiselle Brun had come into Denise Lange's life, taking her from her convent school to live in a dull little apart- nient m the Eue des Saints Pferes, educating her, dressing her, caring for her with a grim affection which never wasted itself in words. How she pinched and saved, and taught herself that she might teach others • bow she triumphantly made both ends meet,~o,re secrets which, like Mademoiselle Brun's romance, she would not tell. For Trench women are not only cleverer and more capable than French men, but they are cleverer and more capable than any other women in the world History, moreover, will prove this ; for nearly all the great women that the world has seen have been produced by France. Denise and Mademoiselle Brim still lived in the dull little apartment in the Paie des Saints P^res-that narrow street whicli runs southward from the Quai Voltaire to the Boulevard St. Germain, where the cheap frame-makers, the artists' colourmen, and the dealers r^ '!) hit f ' 1; Mill tr-! 1 I- ,di 54 THE ISLE OF UNREST. in old prints have their shops Tn fl school, the Did woman ..^ T ''"^'"*^ 1 ••, woman and the voun" 'rjrl «,«ii • <'«Iy through the street, to their loA , ? ^"^ "It must be Iieavenly, mademoiselle, to walk in th. streets quite alone" siir? nn. r 7»r , ^"® puni]. fr ' . ^ °^ Mademoiselle Brun's pupils to iier one day «'e literature e.ass wlniZj— f' ^"' m a contrary humour. "" "^^ " She is looking at that dear Denise wff I, .^- . ^3-. She is in a shocking te ";'.";' Whispered warning frommou^htoT^th^ And in truth Mademoiselle Brun con.t^nfi 7 down the length of thp ..i 7 ''^"'^^"^ glanced "n,. i3ut a seeing eye could well perceive fh.f It was not with Denise but wifT, f^ /^'^'^''^^ ^^^^* the little old woman worr «^^<^olroom, that uiu woman was discontenfpf? p-.,t, had at times a cruel thought that 1 1 b ^l' Pere,, emphasized as it were by L P I " '""' Midi, was hardly .av for ! , * '^'*''<=''''- «p «sties3 o'Z „ tir '";":"™''»-«-d town-mouse. ' ° "" ^°"' °^ "™ "We grey VM tlie convent jirl, walking? roiight with advance of J ourriculiim walk in the ielle Brun's 'le gutter." 'Scition, for Bnu „as scontentecl been the Y glanced e Denise eive that ^om, that haps she JS Sainf 3herchc- aps the ■ stirred le grey IN TEE EUE DU CHERCHE-MIDI. 55 ^nd while she was watching Denise, the cross- grained old mm who acted as concierge to this quiet .^;r^'''' ^" ' ^"^"'^ ^-^-^^^"^ '' «^^e said "Thenletu. by all nieans send for the tongs" answered Denise, taking the letter with a .ock ai 'f alarm. "^ But .he looked at it odiously. a.d gla.ced towaris Mademoiselle Brun before she opened it. It J, perhaps, characteristic of the little old schoM^ist^es^ show no interest whatever. And yet to her probably seemed an age before Denise came towards her, carrying the letter in her ontstretched hand •At first,'- said the girl, n thought it was a joke -a tack of one of the girls. B„t it is serLs enough. It is a romance inside a blue envelope-that She gave a joyous laugh, and threw the letter down on Mademoiselle Brun's knees. died" 'L""; ^'*"'' "™''"- ^^""^' ^''"'«"^' ^^0 has d d s„ denly, and has left me an estate in Corsica," Be continued, impatiently opening the letter, which Mademoiseie Brun fingered with pessimistic distrust. See here! that is the address -<•—-.. . Corsica, ^ll! '»nuilw% 56 THE ISLE OF U:N^p.f<:ST, X naiipm if yon can spar,; it. ' li"htlv M r '""' "' entanglements as vorygravd/ Fo ■'^•' ""' ''°'^'=-er, read the letter >'eaccep:,::;:L"™'^"''^"^*«''-^-% ^^an...i.oi;trdr:rjii:^^,::r--f miiented tLe property known as tl,. P in the commnae ofCalv . . ""' P^P^'^'^' followed a schedule of M,r " ^'^'^^ "^ C^^^"- --..orieoStcrrrsr''"^'"^^^ solicitor concluded with a ^o ' f '™''- "'^ manner of his kind ! . '""''"■' "««'' "« otheriawy^:t:t;sit™""'^^"^'- of Mademoiselle Benise L^n " """=" ""^«' "Jean Jacques M,,u au," "read Mademoiselle U With some scorn the : „u „ . """"^elJ' Urm, "M imbecile, ;„u X! 7 "' "^ ^--Ues ., t ,ry. I'i^ great and m^e evt.i'T"''"''"''' '^ "- "" namesake, lie does not -a c mm »lf|; alpacn, and ahi 3pokc ; jit'meufcs as I the letter nclA -Oman, may safely enclosure, ' inquiring 36 Lange, 5 Kue du e General 3rino. It inge had property, ■ Corsica, included Ja. Tlie after the that no leaffti' >, ' Brmi, •^< t"',ry, I, ^ke not ■i&v IN THli nuK DU CHEnOHE MIDI. 57 of What malady youi' second cousin died, or wimt incomo tlie property will yield-if any." " But we can ask him those particulars." "And pay for each answer," retorted Mademoiselle J>run, folding the letter reflectively. She was remembering that a few minutes earlier she had beeu thinking that their present existence was too iumwforDenisc; and now, in the twinkling of an eye, Wc seemed to be opening out and spreading with a «.p.d.ty which only the thoughts of youth could follow and the energy of spring keep pace with. " Then we will go to Marseilles and ask the questions ourselves, and then he cannot charge for each answer lor I know he could never keep count" But Mademoiselle Brun only looked grave, and would "0 nse to Denise's lighter humour. It almost seemed udeed, as r she were afraid-she who had never known ea through all the years of pinch and struggle who W faced a world that had no use for her, thTtwouM »ot buy the poor services she had to sell. For to know he worst is always a relief, and to exchange it for —ng better is like exchanging an old confer: Brun^'turi'' "t T" '""'—" ^^^ Mademoiselle BMn,tnr„mg sharply upon her pupils, who had taken theopportunitvof ■vlnnd-,;, .r , •■ ""'•'Ken . --•' 0' "fandufliug Freuuh literature. "■» >neantime," said Denise, turning reluctantly ! J 58 THE ISLE OF UNREST. I ! I F nn-V-" ill tho mean time I .,m fiir cnbic metres, from a wcl 1 ° " ™' °^™ "'V pail contain; . oT,H ^ 7? ""'"'^ "^^P' -"' » '•■ea.init.a:/! CoJer---^^ ^■■om it, and tl,e Casa rernceaT I " """ '""' She ,vent back to I J Zl! T'"^'"' ' '"''"'■" ™. quite absorbed ^ H t'^f""'''^ "— '' tan who conld not It 1. f '™' Ma"™oiselIe - compose i,er:,:4:'7ar;'^"f'''-^'-' natnra, desire of, outbrandeeliefLtr '^ '"^ for the better, part and parcel of H,r! """' ''^ of that state of life. ° astounding optimism ■^ few minutes later Ti„„- onclosure_a letter i„ f!, . '? ''^"'^'"''ered the -- stiU ty;„g on he "de , i "'"'^ ^"^'^'''P^- -"-h aesic. She opened it. "Mademoiselle" (the letter ran), " I think I have fJio r^^ ae daughter of „„ oldcomr d in "'' "' '''''''"'^ be my excuse for at oncT T'' """^ *''" ""'^t '.ear b, accident tha ^ZZTZT ''^''' ' Mattei Perucca his smaM '""='' '^^'»» "'e late .^-■oa. Une/.IS itdr ^^"'^'^ '•" inherit is not unknown t„ 1 ,' P™Perty you in^swithiandoirirs^rt'e'r*'-"'^-- that it would be impossiU i' i, ^"" '"°"^ I ^t of so many leep, witli a be pail has s one draws a dream." ^ moments ^demoiselle literature, nge Is the 't must be r optimism >ered tlie pe, which dressing bis must ^ject. I the late neta in I'fcy you al deal- 'rankly sturbed and I IN THE DUE DU CnEROIIE-Mmr 59 of buyin, a s„a„ parcel of lanV „ ^1?: 't'r industry and a firm and unswerving honesty Th. Perucca property would suit ™„ •'^' ^ ^edoi„ga,oodLo„int„z:r:jrr ;o - w,,o understands t).o CWorX ."; t a i 60 THE ISLE OP UNREST. at the few yards of sky that Uoro visible above tlie roofs. Some fleecy clouds were speeding across the clear ellicr. "NcV she answered slowly ; " I think I shall go to Corsica. Tell me," she added, after a pause-" i supi)03e I have Corsican blood in my veins ? " "I suppose so," admitted Mademoiselle Erun reluctantly. ' ■MiL--. ( CI ) above tlie across the ihallgo to pause — " I > •le Erun. I CHAPTER VI. KEIGIIBOUns. By one of th, strokes of good fortune wliicli come but once to tlie . s* ardent student of fashion, th. Baroness de Mdlide had talc up horsiness at the very begin- mng of that estimable craze. It was, therefore, in mere sequence to this pursuit that she fixed her abode on tlie south side of the Champs Elystad plac«d all his affections upon a canine life. hand to the baroness, said curtly— " Good-bye." "Good-bye! What do you mean ? " •■ I am going to Corsica," he explained airily •• But where did you get that idea, mon ami J " ■^4 And, wuh a gesture, he described the Lva^ JOUllNEY'S END. 73 of the Idea, apparently from heaven, upon his head, and then a sideward jerk of the arm seemed to indicate the sudden and irrevocable making up of his own mind "But what for?" eried the lady. "You were not even born there. Your father died thirty years a^o- you wiU not even find his tomb. Your dear moUier left the place in horror, just before you were born Besides, you promised her that you would never return to Corsica-and she who has been dead only five years ! Is It filial, I ask you, my cousin ? Is it filial ? " "Such a promise, of course, only held good during her lifetnne," answered Lory. "Since there is no one left belund to be anxious on my account, it is assuredly no one's affair whether I go or stay." "And now you are asking me to say it will break my heart if you go," said the baroness, with a gay glance of her brown eyes; "and you may ask-and ask ! " She shook hands as she spoke. "Go, ingratitude!" she said. "But tell me. what will bring you back ? " "War," he answered, with a laugh, pausing for a moment on the threshold. And three days later Lory de Vasselot stood on the deck of a small trading steamer that rolled sideways mto Calvi Bay, on the shoulder, as it were, of cn-^ of those March mistrals which serve as the last 1 .:k of 7i THE ISLE OF UKKEST. the dying winter. De Vasselot had taken the first steamer be could find at Marseilles, with a fine dis- regard for personal comfort, which was part of his imhtary training and parcel of his sporting instincts. He was, like many islanders, a good sailor, for, strange as It may seem, a man may inherit from his forefathers not only a taste for the sea, but a stout heart to face its grievous sickness. Tliere are few finer sights than Calvi Bay when the heavens are clear and the great mountains of the interior tower .J.ov. the bare coast-hills. But now the clouds hu, I.V., over the island, and the shape of he heights w.. only suggested by a deeper shadow m the grey mist. The little town nestling on a pro- montoiy looked gloomy and deserted with its small square houses and medi.^val fortress-Calvi the faithful that fought so bravely for the Genoese masters whose' mark lies m every angle of its square stronghold ; Calvi where, if (as seems likely) the local historian is to be beheved, the greatest of all sailors was born, within a days ride of that other sordid little town where the greatest of all soldiers first saw the light. Assuredly Corsica has done its duty-has played its part in the worlds history-with Christopher Columbus and iNapoleon as leading actors. ^ De Vasselot landed in a small boat, carrying his own simple luggage. He had not been very sociable on the I ( JOURNEY'S END. 75 trading steamer; had dined with the captain, and now bade him farewell without an exchange of nn- There is a small inn on the wharf facing tlie anchora-^e and the wave-washed steps where the fishing-boats iFo Here the traveller had a better lunch than the exterior of the house would appear to promise, and found it easy enough to keep his own counsel ; for he was now in Corsica, where silence is not only golden, but speech is apt to be fatal. "I am going to St. Florent," he said to the woman who had waited on him. " Can I have a carriage or a horse ? I am indifferent which." "You can have a horse," was the reply, "and leave It at Eutali's at St. Florent when you have done with It. The price is ten francs. There are parts of the road impassable for a carriage in this wind." De Vasselot replied by handing her ten francs, and asked no further questions. If you wish to answer no questions, ask none. The horse presently appeared, a little thin beast, all wires, carrying its head too high, boring impatiently- masterful, intractable. " He wants riding," said the man who led him to the door, half sailor, half stableman, who made fast de Vasselot's portmanteau to the front of the high Spanish saddle with a piece of tarry rope and simple nautical knots. I I I 11 1: rMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 '-iii ■ 5 ™"= 1^ 131 M 2.2 1.4 M 1= 1.6 V <^ A ^3 ^I' j^^ > ^ %. ^ ^'^ ^^ Photographic Sciences Corporation -b 1 iV ^x ^^q V \\ r\^ ;\ ^^^^ >> 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ^ Pl^ fA i % <5?g i' . I i 76 THE ISLE OF UNREST. iil He nodded curtly, with an upward jerk of the head, as Lory climbed into the saddle and rode away ; for there is nothing so difficult to conceal as horsemanship. *' A soldier," muttered the stable-man. " A gendarme, as likely as not." De Vasselot did not ask the way, but trusted to Fortune, who as usual favoured him who left her a free hand. There is but one street in Calvi, but one way out of the tov/n, and a cross-road leading north and south. Lory turned to the north. He had a map in liis pocket, which he knew almost by heart; for he was an officer of the finest cavalry in the world, and knew his business as well as any. And it is the business of the individual trooper to find his way in an unknown country. That a couple of hours' hard riding brought him to his own lands, de Vasselot knew not nor heeded, for he was aware that he could establish his rights only by force of martial lav, and with a miniature army at his back; for civil law here is paralyzed by a cloud of false witnesses, while equity is administered by a jury which is under the influence of the two strongest of human motives, greed and fear. At times the solitary rider mounted into the clouds that hung low upon the hills, shutting in the valleys beneath their grey canopy, and again descended to deep gorges, where brown water churned in narrow , J JOURNEY'S END. 77 places. And at all times lie was alone. For the Govern lent has built roads through these rocky places, but it has not yet succeeded in making traffic upon them. With the qv-ickness of his race de Vasselot noted everything— the trend of the Watersheds, the colour of the water, the prevailing v/ind as indicated by the growth of the trees— a hundred petty details of Nature which would escape any but a trained comprehension, or that wonderful eye with which some men are born, who cannot but be gipsies all their lives, whether fate has made them rich or poor ; who cannoc live in towns, but must breathe the air of open heaven, and deal by sea or land with the wondrous works of God. It was growing dusk when de Vasselot crossed the bridge that spans the Aliso— his own river, t\at ran through and all around his own land— and urged his tired horse along the level causeway built across the old rivei-bed rito the town of St. Florent. The field- workers were returning from vineyard and olive grove, but appeared to take little heed of him as he trotted past them on the dusty road. These were no heavy, agricultural boors, of the earth earthy, but lithe, dark- eyed men and women, who tilled the ground grudgingly, because they had no choice between that and starvation. Their lack of curiosity arose, not from stupidity, but from a sort of pride which is only seen in Spain and .in-LiiUi ^^ ' i •i •»* 1 f 78 THE ISLE OP UNREST. certain South Amrrican States. Tho proudest man is he who is sufficient for himself. A single inquiry enabled de Vasselot to find the house of Rutali ; for SI. Florent is a small place, with Ichabod written large on its crumbling houses. It was a house like anotner — t^at is to say, the ground floor was a stable, while the family lived above in an atmo- sphere of its own and the stable drainage. The traveller gave Eutali a small coin, which was coldly accepted — for a Corsican never refuses money like a Spaniard, but accepts it grudgingly, mindful of the insult — and left St. Florent by the road that he had come, on foot, humbly carrying his own portmanteau. Thus Lory de Vasselot, went through his paternal acres with a map. His intention was to catch a glimpse of the Chateau de Vasselot, and walk on to the village of Olmeta, and there beg bed and board from his faithful correspondent, the Abbe Susini. He followed the causeway across the marsh to the mouth of the river, and here turned to the left, leaving the route nationale to Calvi on the right. That which he now followed was the nar:'ower route dcjpartcmentale, which borders the course of the stream. Guadelle, a tributary to the Aliso. The valley is flat here — a mere level of river deposit, damp in winter, but drv and sandy in the autumn. Here are cornfields and vine- yards all in one, with olives and almonds growing amid JOURNEY'S END. 79 the wheat— a promised land of milk and honey. Tlicro are no walls, but great hedges of aloe and prickly pear serve as a sterner landmark. At the side of the road are here and there a few crosses— the silent witnesses that stand on either side of every Corsican road- marking the spot where such and such a one met his death, or was found dead by his friends. Above, perched on the slope that rises abruptly on the left-hand side of the road, the village of Oletta looks out over the plain towards St. Florent and the sea— a few brown houses of dusky stone, with roofs of stone; a square- towered church, built just where the cultivation ceases and the rocks and the macquis begin. De Vasselot quitted the road where it begins sharply to ascend, and took the narrow path that follows the course of the river, winding through the olive groves around the great rock that forms a shoulder of Monte Torre, and breaks off abruptly in a sheer cliff. He looked upward with a soldier's eye at this spot, designed by nature as the site of a fort which could command the whole valley and the roads to Corte and Calvi. Far above, amid chestnut trees and some giant pines, Do Vasselot could see the roof and the chimneys of a house— it was the Casa Perucca. Presently he was so immediately below it that he could see it no longer as he followed the path, winding as the river wound through the narrow flat valley. !i i f 80 THE ISLE OF UNREST. hi,t. Suddenly he came out of the defile into a vast open country, spread out like a fan upon a gentle slope rising to the height of the Col St. Stefano, where the Bastia road comes through the Lancone defile — the road by which Colonel Gilbert had ridden to the Casa Perucca not so very long before. At the base of the fan runs the Aliso, without haste, bordered on either bank by oleanders growing like rushes. Halfway down the slope is a lump of land which looks like, and probably is, a piece of the mountain cast off by some subterranean disturbance, and gently rolled down into the valley. It stands aluiio, and on its summit, three hundred feet above the plain, are the square-built walls of what was once a castle. Lory stood for a moment and looked at this prospect, now pink and hazy in the reflected light of the western sky. He knew that he was looking at the Chateau de Vasselot. Within the crumbling walls, built on the sheer edge of the rock, stood, amid a disorderly thicket of bamboo and feathery pepper and deep copper beech, a square stone house with smokeless chimneys, and, so far as was visible, every shutter shut. The owner of it and all these lands, the bearer of the name that was written here upon the map, walked slowly cut into the open country. He turned once and looked back at the towering cliff .o'uind him, the rocky peninsula where JOUKNEY'S END. gj the Casa Perucca stood amidst its great trees, and hid the village of Olmeta, perched on the mountain side behind it. The short winter twilight was almost gone before de Vasselot reached the base of the mound of half- shattered rock upon which the chateau had been built. The wall that had once been the outer battlement of the old stronghold was so fallen into disrepair that he anticipated no difficulty in finding a gap through which to pass within the enclosure where the house was hidden ; but he walked right round and found no such breach. Where the wall of rock proved vulnerable, tlie masonry, by some curious chance, was invariably sound. It had not been de Vasselot's intention to disturb the old gardener, who, he understood, was left in charge of the crumbling house, but to return the next day with the Abbe Susini. But he was tired, and having failed to gam an entrance, was put out and angry, when at length he found himself near the great door built in the solid wall on the north-west side of the ruin. A rusty bell-chain was slowly swinging in the wind which was freshening again at sunset, as the mistral nearly always does when it is dying. With some dilhculty he succeeded in swinging the heavy bell suspended inside the door, so that it gave two curt clangs as of a rusty tongue against moss-grown metal. o II r 1 -1 H rf 91 ffl 1 ^ I ■Ah f 82 THE ISLE OF UNREST. 'I ! t :i1:' After some time the door was opened by a grey- haired man in his shirt-sleeves. He wore a huge black felt hat, and the baggy corduroy trousers of a deep brown, which are almost universal in this country. He held the door half open and peered out, Tlien he slowly opened it and stood back. " Good God ! " he whispered. " Good God ! " De Vasselot stepped over the threshold with one quick glance at the single-barrelled gun in the man's hand. " I am " he began. " Yes," interrupted the other, breathlessly. " Straight on ; the door is open." Half puzzled, Lory de Vasselot advanced towards the house alone ; for the peasant was long in closing the door and readjusting chain and bolts. The shutters of the house were all closed, but the door, as he had said, was open. The place was neatly enough kept, and the house stood on a lawn of that brilliant green turf which is only seen in parts of England, in Ireland, and in Corsica. De Vasselot went into the house, which was all dark by reason of the closed shutters. There was a large room, opposite to the front door, dimly indicated by the daylight behind him. He went into it, and was going straiglit to one of the windows to throw back the abutters, when a sharp click brought him round on his I grey- e black a deep y. He hen ha itli one 3 man's Straight towards L closing ts. The 1 door, as Y enough brilliant gland, in ) all dark 3 a large ,ed by the ras going back the nd on his i .1 i nn ■ r ^ hit' he ro( snn sliu eye hi in clos a n( whij bleai his Are it.' iiili \v. JOURNEY'S END. gg Iieels as if ho Imd been shot Tn o e a neat upturned moustache like his own 1. •/ his own. '^ ^'^'^ ^^^^° dark like "You are a de Vasselot," said this man, quickly Are you Lory de Vasselot ? " ^ ^' "Yes." " Then I am your father." ■; \ U i ' i r * •'-1 84 TUE ISLE OP UNllEST. CHAPTER VIII. AT YASSELOT. «* The life unliveil, the deed undone, the tear Unshed . . . not judging thcae, who judges riglit?" " It has It was the father who spoke first. " Shut that shutter, my friend," he said, not been opened for thirty years." He had an odd habit of jerking his head upwards and sideways with raised eyebrows. It would appear that a trick of thus deploring some unavoidable mis- fortune had crystallized itself, as it were, into a habit by long use. And the old man rarely spoke now without this upward jerk. Lory closed the shutter and followed his father into an adjoining room— a small, round apartment lighted by a skylight and impregnated with tobacco-smoke. The carpet was worn into holes in several places, and the boards beneath were polished by the passage of smooth soles. Lory glanced at his father's feet, which AT VASSELOT. 85 were encased in carpet slippers several sizes too large ior him, bougiit at a guess in tiie village shop. Here again the two men stood and looked at each other. And again it was the father who broke the silence. "My son." he said, half to himself; "and a soldfer. Your mother was a bad woman, mon ami. And I have lived thirty years in tliis room," he concluded simply, " Name of God ! " exclaimed Lory. " And what have you done all this time ? " " Carnations," replied the old man, gravely. " There IS still daylight. Come; I will show you. Yes; car- nations." As he spoke he turned and opened the door behind lum. It led out to a small terrace no larger than a verandah, and every inch of earth was occupied by the pale green of carnation-spikes. Some were buddin- some in bloom. But there was not a flower among them at which a modern gardener would not have laughed aloud. And there were tears in Lory de Vasselot's eyes as he looked at them. The fatlier stood, jerking his head and looking at his son, waiting his verdict. "Yes," was the son's reply ac last; "yes-verv pretty." ^ " But to-night you cannot see them," said the old >:■ !l 86 THE ISLE OF UNREST. man, earnestly. " To-morrow morning — we shall get up early, eli ? " " Yes," said Lory, slowly ; and they went back into the little windowless room. " We will get up early," said the count, " to see the pinks. This cursed mistral beats them to pieces, but I have no other place to grow them. It is the only spot that is not overlooked by Pcrucca." He spoke slowly and indifferently, as if his spirit had been bleached, like his face, by long confinement. He had lost his grip of the world and of human interests. As he looked at his son, his black eyes had a sort of irresponsible vagueness in theii glance. "Tell me," said Lory, gently, at length, as if he were speaking to a child ; " why have you done this?" " Then you did not know that I was alive ? " inquired his father in return, with an uncanny, quiet laugh, as he sat down. "No." " No ; no one knows that — no one but the Abbe Sucini and Jean there. You saw Jean as you came in. He recognized you or he would not have let you in ; for he is quick with his gun. He shot a man seven years ago— one of Perucca's men, of course, who was creeping up through the tamarisk trees. I do not know whai; he came seeking, but he got more from !i i AT VASSELOT. gj, Jean than lie looked for t «>e chStea,,. F„ „„, ,„ u^Ztl I - '° "' Franco with your motl... , '' S°"" '° searched Franco 1" "i ? ^"''''"r^ «>« P""™ ior me; I do not know ti,.„ • a -arrant out against mo still, thou", 2 " 13 written on must bo yellow . '^' " years." ^ "°" "'"'"S'l ■iftet thirty As he spoke he carefully drew nn !,;<. , were of eorduroy, like jL,', , ! ""■'• "■'"'^'' va3seiotwasdreU,krr;e::::\:r"""'^° dress could conceal the tale told 1 1 t", , "" ™'"° I'oad, the elean-cut features If , " "°°''S""<= Noughts were r.J^Z^Ztj'"'":''' '"' vironments-in tJie cm f immediate en. ---^4;:t^l:kr::;:r^-™^ past. He had finn • ^^^ ^^3 in the ^=a«-:rrof:i:;::;r'-''-^contem. -S:::™;^'''-''««-t came here, and a, gzey-iiairecl man, as vou .i nework of ipe, lay a iver. Far r range of tvhere the )od inajes- ished. It . To the like it in is father, lie open )om. n. window lowered. id so the looking door by •17. He 3ing the inted at Jramatic 3 landed AT VASSELOT. 95 there this morning whom he recognized. It could only have been your son. If one recogni.es him, another may. Ig the boy mad to return thus " He h.ke off. and made a step nearer, peering into the count s fiicc. ^ o " "You know somethinrr T qpp u • » V , , ° ^^^ " 1^ your face. 1 ou know where he is." ;He is there," said the count, pointing over the priest s shoulder. "Then God btohim," saU tl.e Abb^Susini, turui,,. on lu3 heel. ° i l| f^ i' L-^n p i 1 1 1 . t fit '1; J IH i^SJ) i ill 1 THE ISLE OF UNBEST. I i CHAPTER IX. THE PROMISED LAND. " I do not aBk that flowers should always sprin^ Beneath my feet." Colonel Gilbeut was not one of those visionaries who thmk that the lot of the individual man is to be bettered by a change ftom, say, an empire to « repnblic. Indeed, the late transformation from a republic to an empire had made no difference to liim, for he was neither a friend nor a foe of the emperor. He had nothing in common with those soldiers of the Second Empire who had won their spurs in the Tuileries, and owed promoUon to a woraaus favouritism. He was, in a word, too good a soldier to be a good courtier ; and politics represented for him, as they do for most wise men, an after-break- faat mterest, and an edifying study of the careers of a certain number of persons who mean to make them- selves a name in the easiest arena that is open to ambition. i I 97 1'HE I'llOMISED LAND. Offlcle.." had tut a .i,„i « iate t ,, :"!"« ^ '•owover, at heart a ^ossin ■,„,, ,. , ^^ ™'' t^o..ee.orBa3tia;r.:r:o:'::^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ to invite tlie passer hv tn ., . ^^' ^^^""^ work was frequently clone bel J ■ ' "'"' '"' It thus happened ' hat Cotroar:""''™'^- along the ooast^oad fron, , an^'^ 7/""^ ■aoruing before the sun ha,l T ""'" ""^ '■.e heights of Elba, ^e day r "T '"°" '"^°™ oaly we. the .ok, isJds Tf 2 ItVc:!''" and Monte Cristo visil.Ip i , , ^"^■'"J" flat Pianosa. so ra e, .I^^o 1: ^" '"^ "'^»'--- in its oomings and gofn that it ' 7' " '"""'" the very eyes and i^" '^""" '^''t before eiy eyes, and m clear weather seems to i;» i-i a i-aft on the still water. " ^'^^ The colonel was contemoIaHn,, .^„ leisurely, artistic eye when ol! ■ • '"'"' ""^ " turn his head ind L^ , '""""=' •"'"^'^ '''"' __^^^^^ and look over his shoulder towards the slowly pounding down towards u fi «' !g '» ■' ilHf » ^ TilE ISLE OP U.«.^RE8T. Ba3ti„ K,,,, M„,.,oillos boat-tho old rersMraMc. And f„,. Colonel Gilbert she ,™ s„ro to bring news irom France, possibly 3„„,o one with whom to while away an hour or so in talk. He rode n.ore leisurely .low and the steamer passed hin,. liy the time he ■■oaehed the dried-fruit faetory on the northern out. sort of tho town, tho I'crsevemnce had rounded the pier-head, and waa gently edging alongside the quay. Bythetnneho reached the harbour she was moored, »d her captain enjoying a morning cigar on the wharK Of course Colonel Gilbert knew the captain of the P"-eev6-ancc. Was he not friendly with the driver of 1.0 St riorent diligence? All who brought news from the outside world were the friends of this idle soklier. ofZncer""'"" """"'" '" ""''■ "'^'"" "-- The captain was a jovial man, with unkempt hair and a . aoke-grimcd face. "News, colonel," he answered. "It is not quite -a y yet. The emperor is always brewing it iut Tudenes, but ,t is not ripe for the public palate "Ah!" Tp ,r ■ ^-'"'-^^"f "'^ '"^ser that moored the P««.,,, „ the q„, ...nel, with t to offer ; arriving eover, of 3 1 knew. 36 before Q before she had le " open ;herished mce, and to Made- aropert}', yourself i THE PROMISED LAND. IQl at hand, as one may say, to introduce us to each other." " No," said Mademoiselle Brun. " And I was surprised to receive a refusal." " Yes," said Mademoiselle Brun, looking across the harbour towards the old town. " There are not many buyers of land in Corsica," ho explained, half indifferently, " and there are plenty of other plots which would serve my purpose. However. I will not buy elsewhere until you and Mademoiselle' Lange have had an opportunity of seeing Berucca— that is certain. No; it is only friendly to keep my offer open." He was standing with his face turned towards the deck-house and the saloon stairway, and tapped his boot idly with his whip. There was something expectant and almost anxious in his demeanour. Mademoiselle Brun was looking at his face, and he was perhaps not aware that it changed at this moment. " Yes," she said, without looking round ; " that is my niece. You find her pretty ? " "Bresent me," answered the colonel, turning to hook his sword to his belt. Denise came hurriedly across the deck, her eyes bright with anticipation and happiness. This was a better life than that of the Eue du Cherche-Midi, and the stir and bustle of the sailors, already at work on ■iUl ,ti I \ I'" 1 1 102 THE ISLE OP UNREST. the cargo, were contagious. She noticed that Made- moiselle Brun was speaking to an officer, but was more interested in the carriage, *vhich, in accordance with an order sent by the captain, was at this moment rattling across the stones towards the steamer. " This," said Mademoiselle Brun, "is Colonel Gilbert, whose letter you answered a few weeks ago." "Ah, yes," said Denise, returning his bow, and looking at him with frank eyes. " Thank you very much, monsieur, but we are going to live at Perucca ourselves." "By all means," laughed the colonel, "try it, mademoiselle; try it. It is an impossibility, I tell you frankly. And Corsica is not a country in which to attempt impossibilities. See here! I perceive you have your carriage ready, and the sailors are now carrying your baggage ashore. You are going to drive to Perucca. Good ! Now, as you pass along the road, you will perceive on either side quite a number of small crosses, simply planted at the roadside— some of iron, some of wood, some with a name, some with initials. They are to be found all over Corsica, at the side of every road. Those are people, mademoiselle, who have attempted impossibilities in this country and have failed— at the very spot where the cross is planted. You understand ? I speak as a soldier to a soldier's dauffhter." THE PROMISED LAND. 103 Ho looked at her, and nodded slowly and gravely with compressed lips. " Eest assured that we shall not attempt impossi- bilities." replied Denise, gaily. "We onl/ask to bo left alone to feed our poultry and attend to our garden. I am told that the house and servants are as my father's cousin left them, and we are expected to-day." 'And you, colonel, shall be our protector," added Mademoiselle Brun, with one of her straight looks. The colonel laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and accompanied them to the carriage which awaited them. " If one only knew whether you approve or disapprove of these hair-brained proceedings," he took an oppor- tunity of saying to Mademoiselle Brun, when Denise was out of earshot. " If I only knew myself," she replied coldly. They climbed into the high, old-fashioned carriage, and drove through the new Boulevard du Paris' upward to the hills above the town. And if they observed the small crosses on either side of the road, marking tlie spot where some poor wight had come to what is here called an accidental death, they took care to make no mention of it. For Denise persisted in seeing everything in that rose light which illumines tlie world when we are young. She had even a good word to say for the Per>^emmnce, wliicli vessel °had 1 1 m ill • 3 !j •iill 104 THE ISLE OP UNREST. assuredly need of such, and said that the captain was a good French sailor, despite his grimy face. " This," she cried, " is better than your stuffy school- room ! " And she stood up in the carriage to inhale the breeze that hummed through the macquis from the cool mountain-tops. There is no air like that which comes as through a filter made of a hundred scented trees -a subtle mingling of their clean woody odours. " Look ! " she added, pointing down to the sea, which looked calm from this gi-eat height. "Look at that queer flat island there. That is Pianosa. And there is Elba. Elba! Cannot the magic of that word rouse you? But no, you have no Corsican blood in you; and you sit there with your uncompromising old face and your black bonnet a little bit on one side, if I may mention it "—and she proceeded to put Mademoiselle Brun's bonnet straight— " you, who are always in mourning for something— I don't know what," she added half reflectively, as she sat down again. The road to St. Florent mounts in a semi-circle behind Bastia through orange-groves and vineyards, and the tiny private burial-grounds so dear to Corsican families of position. These, indeed, are a proud people, for they are too good to await the last day in the com- pany of their humbler brethren, but must needs have a small garden and a hideous little mausoleum of their I ' •> t THE PROMISED LAND. 105 own, with a fine view and easy access to the hi<.li. road. ° With many turns the great road climbs round tlic face of the mountain, and soon leaving Bastia behind takes a southern trend, and suddenly commands from a height a matchless view of the Lake of Eiguglia and the little hillside village where a Corsican parliament once sat, which was once, indeed, the capital of this war-torn island. For every village can boast of a battle, and the rocky earth has run with the blood of almost every European nation, as well as that of Turk and Moor. Beyond the lake, and stretching away into a blue haze where sea and land melt into one, lies the great salt marsh where the first Greek colony was located, where the ruins of Mariana remain to this day. Soon the road mounts above the level of the semi- tropical vegetation, and passes along the face of bare and stony heights, where the pines are small and the macquis no higher than a man's head. Denise, tired with so long a drive at a snail's pace, jumped from the carriage. "I will walk up this hill," she cried to the driver who had never turned in his seat or spoken a word to them. " Then keep close ^o the carnage," he answered. "Why?" \ Hi i n ' I . :w m I ■ I lOG THE ISLE OF UNREST. But he only indicated the macquis with his whip and made no further answer. Mademoiselle Brun said nothing, but presently, when the driver paused to rest he horses, she descended from the carriage and walked with Denise. It was nearly midday when ti.ey at last reached the summit of the pass. The heavy clouds, which had been long hanging over the mountains that border the Sreat plain of Biguglia, had rolled northward before a hot and oppressive bree.e, and the sun was now hidden The carnage descended at a rapid trot, and once the man got down and silently examined his brakes The road was a sort of cornice cut on the bare mountain s.de and a stumble or the slipping of a brake-block ^vould rnevitably .end the carriage rolling into the valley below. Denise sat nprigl>t, and looked quickly, with ea^or movements of the head, from side to side. Soon till reached the region of the upper pines, which are small and presently passed a piece of vi,gin forest-of those' great pines which have no like in Europe ■■Look!" said Denise, gazing up at the great trees With a sort of gasp of excitement. But mademoiselle had only eyes for the road in front Before long they passed into the region of chestnuts' and soon saw the fir.t habitation they had seen for two' hours. For this Is one of the most thinly peopled lands ■i ;h his whip, le Brun said used to rest and walked 1st reached which had border the rd before a ow hidden. I once the ^kes. The mountain rake-block ' into the ^ith eager ipon they ^rc small, -of those eat trees in front. lestnuts, for two 3d lands THE PROMISED LAND. iq^ of Europe, and four great nations of the Continent have t one tnne or other done their best to extonni.no this untameable race. Then a few more house nd a smaller road brancl^^^^ way. The carnage swung round into this whicli led straight to a wall built right across i, tI i Pun^u n,t^,,^^^^ tdl at a door budt in the solid wall. With his whin There was nobody to be seen. The clouds had closed down over he mountains. Even the tops of the great pines were hidden in a thin misfc ^ pause the door was opened by a woman in black with a black s.lk handkerchief over her head, !Z^^ gravely at tliom. , >uo looKea "lamDeuiaeLange/'saidthogirl H .1 li '" i! 1 ' ; M 1 .1 Bi, ,,«; 1 ' W 1 i'U! 108 THE ISLE OP UNREST. ill: St' i n^m CHAPTEIt X. THUS FAR. '•There is some one moving among the oleanders down by the river," said the count, coming quickly into the room where Lory de Vasselot was sittin^r one morning some days after his unexpected arrival Tt the chateau. The old man was cool enough, but he closed tlie window that led to the small terrace where he culti- vated his carnations, with that haste which indicates a recognition of undeniable danger, coupled with no feeling of fear. " I know every branch in the valley," he said, " every twig, every leaf, every shadow. There is some one there." Lory rose, and laid aside the pen with which he was writing for an extended leave of absence. In four days these two had, as one of them had predicted \ THUS FAR. 109 nlf his secret oleanders g quickly tting, one i^al at the osed the he culti- indicates with no , " every 3me one I he was In four ■edicted, custom and Beoessity is a fl„e d.awn one _^^ow mo," he said, going towanb the window, on:::;;'''— ^''-'-^» «-•••.-.- I-ory glanced at his father. Assurodlv ,1. i • -ind was beginning to rouse its^r" ^ ''"^"° It IS nothing buft the sfcirrin- of a I^of h. ., movement of a branrh f] 7° '^''^' ^-^^^ unnatural.' ''""' "^"^^^ ''' "^^^-al and As he spoke, he opened the window with that .1 ::rior"^^^'-'----^»XC: ^-ohesn^ove. The.-«IT%-o:r " ris"'" ™n. and he comes too slowly to rave , " purpose." ^ '"^ "" '™'est "I see," said Lory. " Is that land ours ? " ihe count gave an odd little lau ««: BY SURPRISE. 123 ited the vere, in , "Juwn Denise, "He is splaineJ Denise, he could ography e do not it. Half If black, recipro- ot know Yasselot , number lier head I had the " Are you sure he is there ? " she asked, still looking down at the chateau. " No, I am not. I have only Maria's word for it." " Then I am going to the village of Olmeta to find out," said Denise. ^'^nd mademoiselle followed her to the house without comment. Indeed, she seemed willing enough to do that which they had been warned not to do. On the road that skirts the hill and turns amid groves of chestnut trees, they met two men, loiteiing along with no business in hand, who scowled at them and made no salutation. "They may scowl beneath their great hats," said Denise ; " I am not afraid of them." And she walked on with her chin well up. Below them, on the left, the terraces of vine and olive were weed-grown and neglected; for Denise had found no one to work on her land, and the soil here is damp and warm, favouring a rapid growth. Colonel Gilbert had been unable to help them in this matter. His official position necessarily prevented his taking an active part in any local differences. There were Luccans, he said, to be hired at Bastia, hard- working men and skilled vine-dressers, but they would not come to a commune where such active hostility existed, and to induce them to do so would inevitably lead to bloodshed. i ! 124 THE ISLE OF UN'JEST. in : 1 ' The Abbe Susini luul called, and told a similar tale in more guarded language. Finding the ladies good Catholics, he pleaded for and ibused Ins poor in one breath, and then returned half the money that Denise gave him. "As likely as not you will be given credit for the whole in heaven, mademoiselle, but I M-ill only take part of it," he said. "A masterful man," commented Mademoiselle Brun, when he was gone. But tlie abbe bad suggested no solution to Den.je's difficulties. The estate seemed to be drifting naturally into the hands of the only man who wanted it, and, after all, had offered a good price for it. " I will find out from the Abbe Susini or the mayor whether the Count de Vasselot is really here," Denise said, as they approached the village. " And if he is, we will go and see him. We cannot go on like this. He says do not sell, and then he does not come near us. He must give his reasons. Why should I take his advice ? " "Why, indeed ?" said MademoiseUe Brun, to whom the question was not quite a new one. She knew that though Denise would rebel against de Vasselot's advice, she would continue to follow it. " It seems to be luncheon-time," said Denise, when they reached the village. " The place is deserted. It must be their dejhmer." ' BY SURPRISE. 125 " It may bo," responded mademoiselle, with her man- like curtness of speecli. They went into the clmrch, which was empty and staycl but a lew minutes there, for Mademoiselle Brun was as short in her speech with God as with men When they came out to the market-place, that also was deserted, which was singular, because the villac^ers in Corsica spend nearly the whole day on the market- place, talkmg politics and whispering a hundred lutngues of parochial policy ; for here a municipal councillor is a great man, and usually a great scoundrel sellmg his favour and his vote, trafficking for power, and misappropriating the public funds. Not only was' the market-place empty, but some of the house-doors were closed. The door of a small shop was even shut from within as they approached, and surreptitiously barred Maaemoiselle Brun noticed it, and Denise did not pretend to ignore it. "One would say that we had an infectious com- plaint," she said, with a short laugh. They went to the house of the Abbe Susini. Even this door was shut. ^ " The abb^ is out," said the old woman, who came m answer .0 their summons, and she closed the door again with more speed than politeness. Denise did not need to ask which was the mayor's house, for a board, with the word "Mairie" painted n il 51 f 126 THE ISLE OF UNKEST. upon it (appropriately enough a movable board), was affixed to a house nearly opposite to the churcli. As they walked towards it, a stone, thrown from the far corner of the riace, under the trees, narrowly missed Denise, and rolled at her feet. Mademoiselle Brun walked on, but Denise swung round on her heel. There was no one to be seen, so she had to follow Mademoiselle Brun, after all, in silence. She was rather pale, but it was anger that lighted her eyes, and not fear. Almost immediately a volley of stones followed, and a laugh rang out from beneath the trees. And, strange to say, it was the laugh that at last frightened Denise, and not the stones ; for it was a cruel laugh — the laugh of a brutal fool, such as one may still hear in a few European countries when boys are torturing dumb animals. " Let us hurry," said Denise, hastily. " Let us get to the Mairie." "Where we shall find the biggest scoundrel of them all, no doubt," added n^ademoiselle, who was alert and cool. But before they reached the Mairie the stones had ceased, and they both turned at the sound of a horse's feet. It was Colonel Gilbert riding hastily into the Place. He saw the stones lying there and the two women standing alone in the sunlight. He looked BY SURPRISE. )oard), was lurch. As 3m the far /ly missed ello Brun her licel, to follow She was • eyes, and owed, and id, strange )d Deniso, lugh — the hear in a ing dumh ' us get to mdrel of who was tones had ■ a horse's into the the two 'e looked 127 towards the trees, and then round at tlie dosed houses With aslirug of the shoulders, lie rode towards Denise and dismounted, "xArademoisello," he said, " tliey have been frightening' you." ° ° " Yes," slio answered. " They are not men, but brutes." The colonel, wlio was always gentle in manner, made a deprecatory gesture with the great riding-whip that he invariably carried. "You must remember," he said, "that they are but half civilized. You know their history-they have been conquered by all the greedy nations in succession, and they have never known peace uom the time that history began until a hundred years ago. They are barbarians, mademoiselle, and barbarians always dis- trust a new-comer." " But why do they hate me ? " "Because they do not know you, mademoiselle" replied the colonel, with perhaps a second meaning in his blue eyes. And, after a pause, he explained further. " Because they do not understand you. They belong to one of the strongest clans in Corsica, and it is the ambition of every one to belong to a strong clan. But '^ aau-cr ot lulling into dissension and disorder. they have no head. You are the I" 3,*1 I M rl Jl 128 THE ISLE OF UNREST. head, mademoiselle. And the work they expect of you is not work for such hands as yours." And again Colonel Gilbert looked at Denise slowly and thoughtfully. She did not perceive the glance, for she was standing with her head half turned towards the trees. " Ah ! " he said, noting the direction of her glance, " they will throw no more stones, mademoiselle. You need have no anxiety. They fear a uniform as much as they hate it." " And if you had not come at that moment ? " " Ah ! " said the colonel, gravely; and that was all. "At any rate, I am glad I came," he added, in a lighter tone, after a pause. " You were going to the Mairie, mesdemoiselles, when I arrived. Take my advice, and do not go there. Go to the abbe if you like— as a man, not as a priest— and come to me when- ever you desire a service, but to no one else in Corsica." Denise turned as if she were going to make an ex- ception to this sweeping restriction, but she checked herself and said nothing. And all the while Made- moiselle Brun stood by in silence, a little, patient, bent woman, with compressed lips, and those steady hazel eyes that see so much and betray so little. " The abbd is not at home," continued the colonel. "I saw him many miles from here not long ago; and although he is quick on his legs— none quicker— 1 BY SURPRISE. pect of you lise slowly ;he glance, led towards tier glance, lelle. You m as much t?" lat was all. dded, in a )ing to the Take ray bbe if you me when- n Corsica." ake an ex- le checked lile Made- B, patient, Dse steady ble. le colonel, long ago; quicker— 129 he cannot be here yet. If you are going towards the Casa Porucca, you will perhaps allow me to accompany you." He led the way as he spoke, leading loosely by the bridle the horse which followed h .n, and nuzzled thoughtfully at his shoulder. The colonel was, ifc appeared, one whose gentle ways endeared him' to animals. It was glaringly hot, and when they reached the Casa Perucca, Denisc asked the colonel to come in and rest. It was, moreover, luncheon-time, and in a thinly populated country the great distances between neigh- bours are conducive to an easier hospitality than that which exists in closer quarters. The colonel naturally stayed to luncheon. He was kind and affable, and had a hundred little scraps of gossip such as exiles love. He made no mention of his offer to buy Perucca, remembered only the fact that he was a gentleman accepting franicly a lady's frank hospitality, and if the conversation turned to local matters, he gracefully guided it elsewhere. Immediately after luncheon he rose from the table, refusing even to wait for coffee. " I have my duties," he explained. " The War Office is, for reasons known to itself, moving troops, and I have gradually crept up the ladder at Bastia, till I am nearly at the top there." Mi n m Vi >\ n :|i ' M • I- fjfi II 130 THE ISLE OF UNREST. .^|- ! Denise went with him to the stable to see that his horse had been cared for. " They have only left me the decrepit and the half- witted," she said, " but I am not beaten yet." Colonel Gilbert fetched the horse himself and tightened the girths. They walked together towards the great gate of solid wood which fitted into the high wall so closely that none could peep through so much as a crack. At the door the colonel lingered, leaning against his great horse and stroking its shoulder thought- fully with a gloved finger. " Mademoiselle," he said at length. " Yes," answered Denise, looking at him so honestly in the_face that he had to turn away. " I want to ask you," he said slowly, " to marry me." Denise looked at him in utter astonishment, her face suddenly red, her eyes half afraid. " I do not understand you," she said. " And yet it is simple enough," answered the colonel, who himself was embarrassed and ill at ease. " I ask you to marry me. You think I am too old " He paused, seeking his words. " I am not forty yet, and, at all events, I am not making the mistake usually made by very young men. I do not imagine that I love you — I know it." They stood for a minute in silence ; then the colonel spoke again. I 1] ai m dc 36 that his i the half- aself and !r towards the high li so much id, leaning ir thought- 3 honestly BY SUEPRISE. 132 "Of what are you thinking, mademoiselle ? " •' You need not do that," replied the colonel. " I do not even ask you to answer now." " Oh, I can answer at once " "Then I am too rM ? ^ said at length. "^ '';,™' ^ ^'W>er it is that or „of answered Denise; and neither spoke while the colonel runted and rode slowly away. Den.se closed tie door quite softly behind him. I 1t larry me. b, her face le colonel, . " I ask — " He ' yet, and, e usually ine that I 16 colonel 1 1 1 )l 1, ! • 1 f ■ 1 J l>[''^ i 1 ii M 1 ' k ^mfi u n I: 132 THE ISLE OF UKREST. CHArTER XII. • i! A SUJLMONS. "One Blcrn tyrannic thouglit tluit made An other thoughts its slave." All round the Mediterranean Sea there dwell people who understand the art of doing nothing. They do it unblushingly, peaceably, and of a set purpose. More- over, their forefathers must have been addicted to a similar philosophy; for there is no Mediterranean town or village without its promenade or lounging-place, where the trees have grown quite large, and the shade is quite deep, and the wooden or stone seats are shiny with use. Here those whom the French call " worth-nothings " congregate peacefully and happily, to look at the sea and contemplate life from that reflective and calm standpoint which is only to bo enjoyed by the man who has nothing to lose. To begin at Valentia, one will find these human weeds almost Oriental in their apathy. Farther north, at E-rcelona, tlicy are given to fitful lapses into activity hl< A SUMMOKS. 1.3.3 lefora the heat of the day. At Marseilles they are a most energotie, and are even known to take the trouble of ask,„g the passer for al.s. But eastward, beyond Toulon, they understand their business better, and do ™t even trouble to talk among themselves. The irench worth-nothing i., i„ „ „„„,, ,,„„, ,^^^ -yo lus brothers-mueh less than the Italian, who ^ mte easdy roused to a display of temper and a ^sty of Irj T """''^ W^^ohes the supreme oaln, the Moor, who, across the Mediterranean, will sit all day and stare at nothing with any man in the wor Am^ between these dreamy coasts there lie half a dozen' .3 ands which, strange to say, are islands of unrest. In Majorca every man works from morn till eve In M.norca they do the same, and quarrel after nightfall n y„a they quarrel all day. In Corsica they do otlung restlessly; while Sardinia, as all the world knows, ,8 a hotbed of active discontent At Ajaceio there arc half a dozen idlers on the Place Bonaparte, who sit under the trees against the wal hut they never sit there long, and do not know (hoi; usnjess. At St. Florent, in the north of the island wh eh has a western aspeet-the best for idling-there are but Uvo real, unadulterated knights of industry, who sit on the low wall of that which is called thi New Quay, and conscientiously do nothing from morning till if I,' t I i; 1 ^ '1 ■A 1 SB 'mi if 134 THE ISLE or UNREST. •' Of course I know him," one was saying to the other. "Do I not remember his father, and are not all the de Vasselots cut with the same knife ? I tell you there was a moon, and I saw him get off his horse, just here at the very door of Paitali's stab .e, and unstrap his sack, which he carried himself, and set off towards Olmeta." The speaker lapsed into silence, and Colonel Gilbert, who had lunched, and was now sitting at the open window of the little inn, which has neither sign nor license, leant farther forward. For the word " Olmeta " never failed to bring a light of energy and enterprise into his quiet eyes. The inn has its entrance in the main street of St. Florent, and only the back windows look out upon the quay and across the bay. It was at one of these windows that Colonel Gilbert was enjoying a cigarette and a cup of coffee, and the loafers on the quay were unaware of his presence there. And for the sixth time at least, the story of Lory de Vasselot's arrival at St. riorent and departure for Olmeta was told and patiently heard. Has not one of the great students of human nature said that the canaille of all nations are much alike? And the dull or idle of intellect assuredly resemble each other in the patience with which they will listen to or tell the same story over and over again. A SUMMONS. 3g to the d are not ! ? I tell his horse, \d unstrap Y towards }1 Gilbert, the open sign nor Olmeta " mterprise iet of St. upon the of these cigarette uay were ixth time al at St. old and students 1 nations intellect ice with ory over 135 the hi • . "" ''''' '''''''''y ^--^S --SS he ay w:th dreamy eyes, and only gave the talker his full attention when more ancient history was touched upon. "^ "Yes," said the idler; " and 1 remember his father when he was just at that age-as like this one as one sheep IS hke another. Nor have I forgotten the story Winch tew remember now." ^ He pressed down the tobacco into his wooden pine- •or they are pipe-smokers in a cigarette latitude-and waited cunningly for c.nosity to grow. His com- panion sliowed no sign, though tlie colonel set liis empty coffee-cup noiselessly aside and leant his elbow on the window-sill. The speaker jerked his thumb in the direction of Ohneta over his left shoulder far up on the mountain- side. " That story was buried with Perucca," he said, after a ong pause. "Perhaps the Abbe Susini knows it Wiio can tell what a priest knows ? Tiiere were two leraccas once-fine, big men-and neither married. The other-Andrei Perucca-who has been in hell these thirty years, made sJieep's eyes, they told me at de Vasselot's young wife. She was Prench, and' wilhng enough, no doubt. She was dull, down there in that great chateau ; and when a wom.n is dull she must either go to church or to the devil She ' f u'i I il 136 THE ISLE OF UNREST. Ill cannot content herself with tobacco or the drink, like a man. De Vasselot heard of it. He was a quiet man, and he waited. One day he began to carry a gun, like you and me-a bad example, eh ? Then Andrei Perucca was seen to carry a gun also. And, of course, in time they met-up there on the road from Trunota to Murato. The clouds were down, and the gregale was blowing cold and showery. It is when the gregale blows that the clouds seem to whisper as they crowd through the narrow places up among the peaks, and there was no other sound while these two men crept round each other among the rocks, like two cats upon a roof. De Vasselot was quicker and smaller, and as agile as a goat, and Andrei Perucca lost him altogether. He was a fool. He went to look for him. As if any one in his senses would go to Icok for a Corsican in the rocks ! That is how the gendarmes get killed. At length Andrei Perucca raised his head over a big stone, and looked right into the muzzle of de VasselJ's gun.' The next minute there was no head upon Peru^ca's shoulders." The narrator paused, and relighted his pipe with a foul-smelling sulphur match. "Yes," he said reflectively; "they are fine men, the de Vasselots." _ He tapped himself on tlie chest with the stem of his pipe, and made a gesture towards the mountains drink, like quiet man, a gun, like ei Porucca le, in time 'runeta to regale was le gregale hey crowd eaks, and nen crept 3ats upon jr, and as Itogether. Ls if any )rsican in lied. At »ig stone, iuL's gun. Perucca's e with a ne men, stem of nintains A SUMMONS. 137 -|J^ the sky, as if calling upon the gcJs to hear "I am all for the de Vasselots-I" ho said Colonel Gilbert leant out of the window; and quietly took stock of this valuable adlierent ^ r.'sttT '""'" '"'""' ^'^ speaker, ''we had at I^^stia a young prefect who took himself seriously «e7 1 T'^ ''' ""''''' '^^^y ^^-^^ed t'o est the Count de Yasselot, though they had not a crap of evidence, and the clan was stron. in those days, stronger than the Peruccas are to-day.° ZuZ never caught him. They disappeared bag aL bagg !l' ietL^^^^^^^^^ died there, or ;vas perhaps killed by the Peruccas who grew strong under Mattei, so that'in a fe: el wou d b, e been impossible for a de Vasselot toT L ns face m this country. Then Mattei Perucca dieT a was hardly in his grave before this man came I te you, I saw him myself, a de Vasselot, with ' his fa h r s quick way of turning his head, of sittin. in the -cl le lightly like a Spaniard or a Corsican. tI t w -t-spring,and it is now July-three months a.; And he has never been seen or heard of since. B«t le --, I tell you; he is here in the island. A kely as not he is in the old chateau down there in the valley. Ko honest man has set his foot across the threshold since the de Vasselots left it thirty years 138 THE ISLE OP UNRKST. >M lit s m a^o— only Jean is there, who has the evil eye. But there are plenty of I'erucoa's people up at Olmeta who vould risk Jean's eye, and break down the doors of the cliateau at a word from tlie Casa Porucca. Eut tlie girl there who is tlie head of the clan will not say the word. Slie does not understand that she is powerful if she would only go to work in the right way, and help her people. Instead of tliat, she quarrels with them over such small matters as tlie right of grazing or of cutting wood. She will make the place too hot for her " He broke off suddenly. " What is that ? " he said, turning on the wall, whicli was polished smooth by constant friction. He turned to the north and listened, looking in the direction of Cap Corse, from whence the Bastla road comes winding down the mountain slopes. "I hear nothing," said his companion. " Then you are deaf. It is the diligence half an hour before its time, and the driver of it is shouting as he comes-shouting to the people on the road. It seems that there is news " But Colonel Gilbert heard no more, for he had seized his sword, and was already halfway down the stone stairs. It appeared that he expected news, and when the diligence drew up in the narrow street, he was there awaiting it, amid a buzzing crowd, which had inexplicably assembled in the twinkling of an eye A SUMMONS. 130 Yc3 ; there was assuredly news, for th'i diligence came in at a gallop though there was no one on it but the driver. He shouted incoherently, and waved his whip al)ove his head. Then, quite suddenly, perceiving Colonel Gilbert, he snapped his lips together, threw aside the ndns, and leapt to the ground. " Mon colonel," he said, " a word with you." And they went apart into a doorway. Tlirco words sufficed to tell all that the diligence driver knew, and a minute later the colonel hurried towards the stable of tlie inn, where his horse stood ready. He rode away at a sharp trot, not towards Bastia, but down the valley of Vasselot. Although it was evident that iie was pressed for time, the colonel did not hurry his horse, but rather relieved it when he could by dismounting, at every sharp ascent, and riding where possible in the deep shade of the chestnut trees. He turned aside from the main road that climbs laboriously to Oletta and Olmeta, and followed the river-path. In order to gain time he presently left the path, and made a short cut across the open laud, glancing up at the Casa Perucca as he did so. For he was trespassing. He was riding leisurely enough when his horse stumbled, and, in recovering itself, clumsily kicked a great stone with such force that he shattered it to a hundred pieces, and then stood on three legs, awkwardlv swinging his hoof in a way th^t horses have when the 140 I THE ISLE OF UNREST. bon. has beoa jarred, in a moment the colonel dia- mouuted, and felt the injured hg carefully " My friend," he said kindly, " you are a fool. Wh,t areyo, ,i„g, ^^-- of a dog "-he paused, and collecting the pieces of broken quartz, threw them away into the brush-"name of a dog. what are you O With an odd laugh Colonel Gilbert climbed into the sadcHo again, and althongh he loolced carefully up „t the Casu I'erucca, he failed to see Mademoiselle Brun's grey face amid the grey shadows of an olive tree The horse limped at first, but presently forgot his griivaneo ngamst the kg stone that had lain in his path. The colone laughed to himself in a singular «-ay more than once at the seemingly trivial accident, and on regainin.. tl.o path, turned in his saddle to look again at the spol wJiere it had occurred. On nearing the chateau he urged his horse to a better pace, and reached the great door at a - arp trot He rang the bell without dismounting, a-u .isurely quitted the saddle. But the sumnrons was not .mmedutely answered. He jerked at the chain a^ain and rattled on the door with the handle of his ridln-.' wlnp. At length the bolts were witlrdrawn, and tte heavy door opened sufficiently to admit a glance of th.at ev,l eye winch the peasants did not care to face Before speaking the colonel made a step forward 'so lond dls- 1. Wliat isod, and Bvv them are you into tlio ly up at 'e Brun's ee. The rievance ih. The ore than ^gaining the spot 3e to a rp trot. ;isurely as not again, riding- [id the nee of face, ird, so A SUMMONS. j.^j "/"'"'''' ""--""-out the c.o.i„, of "The Count Jo Vassolot," said lie. "Take away your foot," rcpliod Joan The colouol noted with a good-„atu..a .u.^nriso the l-;_.on of i.i3 .stout nai,,g.,oo, and vitlKlrew. The Count do Vassolot," ho ..epcai.d. ■'Yn, nood ..ot trouUo, n,y friond, to toll any lios . „ lo . ;--•'":>- evil eye. I know tL count sl.o:; aw hu,Mn ran.,,i„3t before ho came, and I s^^ u a t„s very door a few week, ago. „e\.„„, '"0, and I tlnnk you know n,o too, my f.icn,!. Toll yo..r master I have news fro„> i,a„ee. He will see Jean uneeromonioudy dosed tho door, and the colonel, who was moving away towards his ho.so urnod sharply on his heel when ho heard tho bolts' ho.ng surreptitiously pushed baek again. "A'';" ■'« ='■>". »d he stood outsi.Io the door with h.s hand at las moustaehe, roflootivoly following Joan's -ovonronts, "they are singularly careful to keep mo out, those people." ' He had not long to wait, however, for presently Lory came, stepping quickly over the high threshold and dosmg the door behind him. But Gilbert was ^nller than de Vassolot, and o„uld see over his head, ire looked right through tho house into tho little i i 142 THE ISLE OF UNREST. Hi- I garden on the terrace, and saw some one there who was not Jean. And the light of surprise was still in his eyes as he shook hands with Lory de Vasselot. " You have news for me ? " inquired de Vasselot. " News for every Frenchman." " Ah ! " " Yes. The emperor has declared war against Germany." " War ! " echoed Lory, with a sudden laugh. " Yes ; and your regiment is the first on the list." " I know, I know ! " cried de Vasselot, his eyes alight with excitement. " But this is good news that you tell me. How can I thank you for coming ? I must get home — I mean to France — at once. But this is great news ! " He seized the colonel's hand and shook it. " Great news, mon colonel — great news ! " "Good news for you, for you are going. But I shall be left behind as usual. Yes ; it is good news for you." " And for France," cried Lory, with both hands out- spread, as if to indicate the glory that was awaiting them. " For France," said the colonel, gravely, " it cannot fail to be bad. But we must not think of that now." "We shall never think of it," answered Lory. " This is Monday ; there is a boat for Marseilles to-niuht. I leave Bastia to-nidit, colonel." 4^f!^^ there wlio as still in selot. 3selot. r against B list." his eyes news that ming ? I But this Iiand and lews ! " ■. But I ood news mds out- awaiting it cannot : now." 3d Lory, ilarseilles A SUMMONS. J .g Bastia. from tho heights fjlrl: T™"'"" steamer that .-oul/conve^ W t„ 7 "" "" northward from Bonifacio ^ ™'"' '"^'"^ -.tul.oftraffai:"''"*^''^^'"'''^'^-"-' ' 'fir v.' i|i 1 ill ; ;I- 144 THE ISLE OF UNREST. CHAPTER XIII. WAR. " Since all that I can ever do for thco Is to do nothing, maj'st thou never sec, Never divine, the all that nothing coaleth mo ! " It i3 for kings to declare war, for nations to fight and pay. Napoleon III. declared war against Taissia, and Fn -ice fought side by side with England in the Crimea, not because the gayest and most tragic of nations had aught to gain, but to ensure an upstart emperor a place among the monarchs of Europe, And that strange alliance was merely one move in a long game played by a consummate intriguer— a :.;i.me which began disastrously at Boulogne and ended disastrously at Sedan, and yet was the most daring and brilliant feat of European statesmanahip that has been carried out since the adventurer's great uncle went to St. Helena. But no one knows why in July, 1870, Napoleon III. declared war against Germany. The secret of tlie greatest war of modern times lies buried in the Imperial mausoleum at Frognul. i!4 I If Hi, WAn. ,,5 Tteic i,, a sort of surprise wl.ich is oausoj by the .s.Kkle„ arrival of tl,e long expectoj. and Clcrmanv experienced it in that hot midsnurmer, for ther'e seemed to be no reason why ,var should brcalc out at the moment. Shortly before, ihe Spanish Govern- ment had offered the erown to the hereditary Prince I-eopold of Hohenzollern, and France, ever ready to see grievance, found herself suited. But the hereditary pnnce declined that throne, au.! the incident seemed about to close. Then quite suddenly France made a cemand, witli reference to any possible recurrence of the same question, which Germany could not be ex- pected to grant. It was an odd demand to make, and .n a flash of thought the great German chancellor saw that tins meant war. Perhaps he had been waitin., for ■t. At all events, he was prepared for it, as were" the ^.lent soldier, von Eoon, and the gentle tactician, von Moltke. These gentlemen were away for a holiday but they returned, and, as history tells, had merely to fill m a few dates on already prepared docu- ments. If Trance was not ready she thought herself ,0, and was at aU events willing. N,y_ 3,,^ ^^^ ^ she shouted when she should have held her tongue And who shall say wdrat the schemer of the Tuileries thought of rt all behind that pleasant smile, those dull and splunx-like eyes ? He had always believed in his T Ii 14G THE ISLE OF UNllEST. star, had always known that he was destined to be great; and now perhaps he knew that his star was waning — that the greatness was past. Ho made his preparations quietly. He was never a flustered man, this nephew of the greatest genius the world has seen. Did he not sit three months later in front of a cottage at Donchery and impassively smoke cigarette after cigarette while waiting for Otto von Bismarck ? He was a fatalist. " The Moving Finger writes ; and, liaviug writ, Moves on." And it must be remembered to his credit that he asked no man's pity — a request as foolish to make for a fallen emperor as for the ordinary man who has, t -y instance, married in haste, and is given the leisure o<' a whole lifetime in which to repent. For the human heart is incapable of bestowing unadulterated pity : there must be some contempt in it. If the fall of Napoleon III. was great, let it be remembered that few place themselves by theii= own exertions in a position to fall at all. The declaration of war was, on the whole, acclaimed in France ; for Frenclimen are, above all men, soldiers. Does not the whole world use French terms in the technicalities of warfare ? The majority received th<- news as Lory de Vasselot received it. For a time he could only think that this was a great and glorious 3d to be star was aade his red man, orld has ront of a cigarette smarck ? !; that he make for ) has, t 'V sure o<" a 3 human ed pity : e fall of sred that ma in a .cclaimed soldiers. 3 in the }ived th^ I time ho glorious WAR. 147 --nt in h^ lii,. He hurried in to tell his ..her, but the count failed to rise to the occasion " War ! " ho said. " Yes ; there have been many i„ -y time. They have not affected me-or my carnations." And I go to it to-night," announced Lory, watching iHs father with eyes suddenly grave and anxious "Ah!" said the count, and made no fartlier comment. ^uiuj^^r Then, mthout pausmg to consider Lis own motives W hurned „p to the Cm Perucea to toll the ladies there hi, great news. He must, it seemed, tell some, body, and he knew no one else within reaeh, except perhaps the Abbe Susini, who did not pretend to be a u.'renchman. "Is it peace?" asked Mademoiselle ^ .i who having seen him climbing the steep slope in the' glaring sunshine, was waiting for him by the open side- door when he arrived there. He took her withered hand, and bowed over it as gallantly as if it had been soft and young. •; What do you mean ? " he asked, Tooking at her curiously. J' Well, it seems that the Casa Perucea and the Chateau de Vasselot are not on visiting terms We only call on each other with a gun." "It is odd that you should have a«ked me that," id Lory, " for it is not R! I sa peace, but war. 148 THE ISr.E OF UxNREST. And as he looked at her, her face hardened, her steady eyes wavered for once. "Ah!" she said, her han 'o dropiiing sharply against her dingy black dresd in a gesture >f d-^pair " A<(ain ! " " Yes, madcmoisoUe," answered Lory, gently ; for he had a quick iutuitioi;, and knew at a glance that war must have hurt this woman at one time of her life. She stood for a ino'iient tapping the ground with her foot, looking loflectively across the valley. "Assuredly," she said, " Frenchwomen must be tht bravest women in the world, or else there would never be a light heart in the whole country. Come, let us go in and tell Denise. It is Germany, I suppose ? " " Yes, mademoiselle. They have long wanted it, and we are obliging them at last. You look grave. It is not bad news I bring you, but good." "Women like soldiers, but they hate war," said mademoiselle, and walked on slowly in silence. After a pause, she turned and looked at him as if she were going to ask him a question, but checked herself. " I almost did a foolish thing," she explained, seeing his glance of surprise. " I was going to ask you if yor were going ? " " Ah, yes, I am go:r t," he answered, with - lau'b and a keen glance of t . • ement. " War is a nev •.:■ i , go WAR. 149 evil mademoiselle, and assists promotion. \VJ,y should you hate it ? " ^ "Because we cannot interfere in it," replied Made„,oiselIe Brun, with a snap of the lips. ' We shall find Denise in the garden to tiie north of the house, picking green beans, Monsieur le Comte" continued Mademoiselle Brun, with a glance in hi's direction. "Ihon I shall have time to help with the beans cfe I go to the war," answered lory; and they walked on in silence. The garden wa, but half cnltivated-a luxuriant t nolet of frn,t and weed, of trailing vine and wild on,at.s. The air of it was heavy with a hundred scents, and, ru the shade, was eool, and of a mossy odour rarely found in Southern seas. Tliey did not see Denise at first, and then suddenly dje emerged at the other end of the «-eed-grown path where they stood. I.„ry hurried forward, hit in h! and per-cened that Denise made a movement, as if t^ «^mto the Shadow, whieh was immediately "If they must quarrel/' she said to herself, " they mav do It without my assistance." ^ ^ Ana Denise seemed, indeed, ready to fall out with her M rlnj; il! l^gWi '■* Mi: i.t 150 THE ISLE OF UNREST. IM I I iili fi: I neighbour, for she came towards him with heightened colour and a flash of annoyance in her eyes. " I am sorry they put you to the trouble of coming out here," she said. " Why, mademoiselle ? Because I find you picking green beans ? " " No ; not that. But one has one's pride. This is my garden. I keep it ! Look at it ! " And she waved her hand with a gesture of contempt. De Vasselot looked gravely round him. Then, after a pause, he made a movement of the deepest despair. " Yes, mademoiselle," he said, with a great sigh, " it is a wilderness." " And now you are laughing at me." " I, mademoiselle ? " And he faced her tragic eyes. " You think I am a woman." De Vasselot spread out his hands in deprecation, as if, this time, she had hit the mark. " Yes," he said slowly. " I mean you think we are only capable of wearing pretty clothes and listening to pretty speeches, and that anything else is beyond our grasp altogether." "Nothing in the world, mademoiselle, is beyond your grasp, except"— he paused, and looked round him—" except a spade, perhaps, and that is what this garden wants." They were very grave about it, and sat down on a m WAR. 151 '^ii^' rough seat built by Mattel rerncca, wlio had come there in the hot weather. " Then what is to be done ? " said Denise, simply. For the French-the most intellectually subtle people of the world-have a certain odd simplicity which seems to have survived all the clianges and chances of monarchy, republic, and empire. " I do not quite know. Have you not a man ? " "I have nobody, except a decrepit old man, who is half an imbecile," said Denise, with a short laugh. " I get my provisions surreptitiously by the hand of Madame Andrei. No one else comes near the Casa. We are in a state of siege. I dare not go into Olmeta ; but I am holding on because you advised me not to sell." " I, mademoiselle ? " " Yes ; in Paris. Have you forgotten ? " "No," answered Lory, slowly— "no; I have not forgotten. But no one takes my advice-indeed, no one asks it— except about a horse. They think I know about a horse." And Lory smiled to himself at the thought of his proud position. "But you surely meant what you said?" asked Denise. " Oh yes. But you honour me too much by taking my opinion thus seriously w^:thout question, mademoiselle." Denise was looking r.: him with her clear, searching eyes, rather veiled by u suggestion of disappointment. mM\. 1 1 i! 152 THE iSLE UU uNREST. ^li m " I tliouglit— I thought you secmod so decided, so siircofyour own opinion," she said doubtfully. De Vasselot was silent for a moni'^ -, Lrou uc turned to her quickly, impulsively, confidentially. " Listen," he said. " I will tell you the truth. I said ' Don'r sell.' I say ' Don't sell ' still. And I have not a shre 1 of reason for doing so. There ! " Deni id was not a person who was easily led. She laughed at the stern, strong Mademoiselle Brun to her face, and treated her opinion with a gay contempt. She had never yet been led. " No," she said, and seemed ready to dispense with reasons. " You will not sell, yourself ? " she said, after a pause. "No; I cannot sell," he said quickly; and she remembered his answer long afterwards. After a pause he explained farther. " I tell you frankly/ he s.r'l earnr 1y, for ho was always either very earnest or very gay— "I tell you frankly, when we both rncnved an offer to bu", I thought there must be some reason why the places are worth buying, but I have found none." He paused, and, looking round, rr- omberod that this also was his, and did not belong to eni at all, who claimed it, and held it with such a mgh hand. " As Corsica at present stands, Perucca and Vasselot are valueless, mademoiselle. I claim the honour of I'll WAR, 1j3 being in the same boat with you Aiul if fl.. f„ii„ 1 • , ^ "^ " the empire icuis — bonjour la 2onix ! " And he sketched a grand upheaval with a .-avo of liLs two hands in the air, sharply' "''^■*°"" "" ""'^'™ '»"'" »*''»'' Deniso, "Ah. but I have tl,e head of a sparrow ! ■■ cried Lory "" ^V'"°': ''--'f gri-o-ly oa the forehead "'i forgot to tell you the very thi„g that I came to tell ou. w ,c is odd. for „„,ii I eame into this gar I .J lunk of nothing else. I was ready to'shont It to th, ..ec,. War has been declared, mademoiselle." War . said Denise ; and she drew in one whistling breath thro, h her teeth, as one may who has been" bu t ,y . taet V ^th heated metal, and .at looking 16 L/omte ? slie astprl in « «*. i bue asked, in a steady voice, after a moment. "To-niglit." He rose and stood before her, looking at the tangled garden with a frown. ° "Ah!" he said, with a sudden laugh, "if th. en^peror had only consulted me, he would not have 'lone It just yet I .ant to go, of course, for I am a M.er. But do not want to go now. I should have Jilced to see things more settled h«~ ■•- Olm-ta I" tl.e empiro full.,. mademoiseUe, 'y„u nn,,t return to •ii: ;i^ '• 'i m 154 THE ISLE OP UNREST. n m France ; remember that. I should have liked to have ofFured you my poor assistance ; but I cannot— I must go. There are others, however. There is Arademoiselle Brun, with a man's heart in that little body. And there is the Abb^ Susini. Yes ; you can trust him as you can trust a little English fighting terrier. Tell him - No; I will tell him. He is a Vasselot, mademoiselle, but I shall make liim a Perucca." He held out his hand gaily to say good-bye. " And— stay ! Will you write to me if you want me, mademoiselle ? I may be able to get to you." Denise did not answer for a moment. Then she looked him straight in the eyes, as was her wont with men and women alike. " Yes," she said. A few minutes later. Mademoiselle Brun came into the garden. She looked round but saw no one. Approaching the spot where she had left Denise, she found the basket with a few beans in it, and Denise's gloves lying there. She knew that Lory had gone, but still she could see Denise nowhere. There were a hundred places in the garden where any who did not wish to be discovered could find concealment. Mademoiselle Brun took up the basket and continued to pick the French beans. "My poor child ! my poor child ! " she muttered twice, with a bard face. ■^t-r ( 1 55 ) CHAPTER XIV. GOSSIP. " Cupid is a caanisf, A mystio, and a cubalist. . Can your lurking thought aurpriae, And interpret your device ? " That wliich has been taken by tlie sword must be held by the sword. In Corsica tlie blade is sheathed, but It has never yet been laid aside. The quick events of July thrust this sheathed weapon into the hand of Co onel Gilbert, who, as he himself had predicted, was lelt behind in the general exodus. "If you are placed in command at Bastia how many, or how few men will suffice?" asked the' civil authority, who was laid on the shelf by the outbreak of war. And Colonel Gilbert mme fc ^ 1.0 I.I 1.25 ■-Wis |50 "'"== ^ tiS, 1.4 |M M 1.6 11- -X 1 . Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 •O' iV :\ \ ^^ 6^ ) .