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Updated: June 24, 2025
"You can help me on the way to Vilna," answered D'Arragon. "You will never get there." "I will try," said the sailor. Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven, No pyramids set off his memories, But the eternal substance of his greatness To which I leave him. "Why I will not let you go out into the streets?" said Barlasch one February morning, stamping the snow from his boots.
Even in this frontier city, full of spies, strangers spoke together in the streets, and the sound of their voices, raised above the clang of carillons, came in at the open window. "At first a victory is always a great one," said D'Arragon, looking towards the window. "It is so easy to ring a bell," added Sebastian, with his rare smile.
D'Arragon read the letter slowly from beginning to the unsigned end, while Desiree, sitting at the table, upon which she leant one elbow, resting her small square chin in the palm of her hand, watched him. "Ah?" she exclaimed at length, with a ring of contempt in her voice, as if at the thought of something unclean. "A spy! It is so easy for you to keep still, and to hide all you feel."
"And you," he said, "you have nothing to say for your husband." "He may have been misled," she said mechanically, in the manner of one making a prepared speech or meeting a foreseen emergency. It had been foreseen by Louis d'Arragon. The speech had been, unconsciously, prepared by him. "You mean, by Colonel de Casimir," suggested Mathilde, who had recovered her usual quiet.
And an hour later, while pretending to be asleep, he saw Barlasch get up, and crawl cautiously into the trees where the unsavoury food had been thrown. "Provided," muttered Barlasch one day, "that you keep your health. I am an old man. I could not do this alone." Which was true, for D'Arragon was carrying all the baggage now. "We must both keep our health," answered Louis.
He roused himself with the quickness and completeness of one accustomed to brief and broken rest, and stood up shaking himself in his clothes, like a dog with a heavy coat. He took no notice of D'Arragon, but looked at Desiree with questioning eyes. "It was not the Captain?" he asked. And Desiree shook her head.
"Yes." "I was told to look for an English sailor Louis d'Arragon." "Then you have found me," was the reply. Still the cobbler hesitated. "How am I to know it?" he asked suspiciously. "Can you read?" asked D'Arragon. "I can prove who I am if I want to. But I am not sure that I want to." "Oh! it is only a letter of no importance. Some private business of your own.
He had his back to the candles, and was half-hidden by the collar of his fur coat, which met the cap pressed down over his ears. He turned towards the table to lay aside her gloves, and the light fell on his face. Desiree was wideawake in an instant, and Louis d'Arragon, hearing her move, turned anxiously to look at her again. Neither spoke for a minute.
Nodding his head with silent emphasis, Sebastian gave it to be understood that he knew that and more. "It makes a great difference to us at sea in the Baltic," said D'Arragon. "We are no longer harassed night and day, like a dog, hounded from end to end of a hostile street, not daring to look into any doorway. The Russian ports and Swedish ports are open to us now."
"A brief half-hour and I am with you again. You will stay here till I return." He turned, nodded gaily to Desiree and ran downstairs. Through the open windows they heard his quick, light footfall as he hurried up the Frauengasse. Something made them silent, listening to it. It was not difficult to see that D'Arragon was a sailor.
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