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Chap. 2. I shall now give you some details of Masséna's career. André Masséna was born on the 6th of May 1758 at La Turbie, a village in the little state of Monaco. His paternal grandfather was a respected tanner who had three sons: Jules, the father of the marshal, Augustin and Marcel. The first two of these went to Nice, where they set up a soap-works.
He had heard that there were ruined Ligurian forts to be traced still, among the higher hills and mountains; and the monument of La Turbie, whither he was bound, was Augustus Cæsar's emblem of triumph over the Ligurian tribes.
"Thursday. Monte Carlo. The three gents search the hotels. "Friday. Flying visits to La Turbie, the Cap d'Ail, Cap Martin. M. Daubrecq rings me up. Thinks it wiser to send the gents to Italy. Make the porter of the Hotel Franklin send them a telegram appointing a meeting at San Remo. "Saturday. San Remo. Station platform.
"I see," said Jack, "so you came into Turbie by the back road? I wondered why I hadn't seen your car." "You expected me, did you?" she smiled, as she sat down at the table and selected a peach from its cotton-wool bed. "I only arrived a second ago, in fact I was opening the door when you almost knocked my head off. What a violent man you are, Jack! I shall have to put you into my story."
Of course, I don't know that it will come to anything, but you may as well try your luck." "What is it?" he asked. She thrust a square of gilt-edged cardboard into his hand. "It's an invitation," she told him, "from the directors, to attend a dinner at La Turbie Golf Club-house, up in the mountains, to-night. It isn't entirely a joke, I can tell you.
"You are in good condition, my friend," Selingman observed admiringly. "I need to be for my work," Coulois replied. "Let us get to business. There is no need to mince words. What do you want with me? Who is the quarry?" "The man who ruined your little affair at La Turbie and captured your comrade Martin," Selingman whispered. "You see, you have every provocation to start with."
For some distance beyond Eze the road followed the side of rugged limestone cliffs surmounted by fortifications and signal stations. At the old, queer-looking town of La Turbie, while the horses rested for an hour, we selected postal cards and took kodak views.
A little weak, irritable sniff came up from its engine as the toy train paused at one of the three stopping places below La Turbie. It was like a very young girl blowing her nose after crying. Vanno did not go down to the low levels; but asking the way of an old peasant whose head was wrapped in a red handkerchief, he learned how to find the hill-village of Roquebrune, keeping to the mule paths.
The town and its dominating castle seen from below showed as if flattened against the mountain's breast; but coming into the place on foot, the mountain retired into the background, and the huge mediæval ruin was sovereign lord of all. The whole village had been made by robbing the castle of brick and stone, as La Turbie was built of the Trophy.
"Not going up to La Turbie, by any chance?" he enquired. Hunterleys nodded. "I'm going up to the dinner," he replied. "The hotel motor is starting from here in a few minutes." "Come with me," Richard invited. Hunterleys looked a little doubtfully at the long, low machine. "Are you going to shoot up?" he asked. "It's rather a dangerous road." "I'll take care of you," the young man promised.
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