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"Hey! major!" shouted the grenadier. "Farewell!" a woman's voice called aloud. An icy shiver ran through Philip de Sucy, and he dropped down where he stood, overcome with cold and sorrow and weariness. "My poor niece went out of her mind," the doctor added after a brief pause.
Shortly before the loss of the fleet the General-in Chief had formed the design of visiting Suez, to examine the traces of the ancient canal which united the Nile to the Gulf of Arabia, and also to cross the latter. The revolt at Cairo caused this project to be adjourned until the month of December. Before his departure for Suez. Bonaparte granted the commissary Sucy leave to return to France.
"That village down yonder must be Baillet." "Great heavens!" cried the Marquis d'Albon. "Go on to Cassan by all means, if you like; but if you do, you will go alone. I prefer to wait here, storm or no storm; you can send a horse for me from the chateau. You have been making game of me, Sucy.
Monsieur de Sucy replaced his sabre in its scabbard, took the bridle of the precious horse he had hitherto been able to preserve, and led it, in spite of the animal's resistance, from the wretched fodder it appeared to think excellent. "We'll start, Bichette, we'll start! There's none but you, my beauty, who can save Stephanie. Ha! by and bye you and I may be able to rest and die," he added.
After naming the first precautions, the doctor left the room, to prepare, himself, a calming potion. The next day, Monsieur de Sucy was better, but the doctor still watched him carefully. "I will admit to you, monsieur le marquis," he said, "that I have feared some affection of the brain.
Success would enable him to plead that his first lapse in discipline was due to irregular orders from his superior, that anyhow he had been an adjutant-major, and that finally the position of lieutenant-colonel gave him immunity from punishment, and left him blameless. He nevertheless was uneasy, and wrote two letters of a curious character to his friend Sucy, the commissioner-general at Valence.
No ray of intelligence enlivened her vacant face. A few whitish hairs served her for eyebrows; the eyes themselves, of a dull blue, were cold and wan; and her mouth was so formed as to show the teeth, which were crooked, but as white as those of a dog. "Here, my good woman!" called Monsieur de Sucy.
He will soon come to you." "Then it was really she!" cried de Sucy at d'Albon's first words. "Ah! I still doubted it," he added, a few tears falling from his eyes, which were habitually stern. "Yes, it is the Comtesse de Vandieres," replied the marquis. The colonel rose abruptly from his bed and began to dress. "Philippe!" cried his friend, "are you mad?"
"Is that you, Philippe?" said the aide-de-camp, recognizing a friend by the tones of his voice. "Yes. Ha, ha! is it you, old fellow?" replied Monsieur de Sucy, looking at the aide-de-camp, who, like himself, was only twenty-three years of age. "I thought you were the other side of that cursed river. What are you here for? Have you brought cakes and wine for our dessert?
He crushed the paper in his hand and, with a loud groan, of misery, fled over the bridge like one possessed. Madame la Comtesse de Sucy never went to England. She was one of those French women who would sooner endure misery in their own beloved country than comfort anywhere else. She outlived the horrors of the Revolution and speaks in her memoirs of the man Bertin.
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