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And now, as she drove through the smiling country, with which it was almost impossible to associate the idea of war, she was planning how she could get to the front and work there under the Baron de Melide, and find Lory de Vasselot. "They are somewhere near a little place called Sedan," said the baroness.
"Vivario, Bocognano, Bastelica, Cauro, Sartene," muttered de Vasselot, as he rode on. He was in the great forest of Vizzavona when the day broke, and he saw through the giant pines the rosy tints of sunrise on the summit of Monte D'Oro, from whence at dawn may be seen the coast-line of Italy and France and, like dots upon a map, all the islets of the sea.
Besides, what is land in this country, unless you till it with a spade in one hand and a gun in the other?" Lory de Vasselot leant forward in his chair. "But now is the time to act," he said. "I can act if you will not. I can make use of the law." "The law," answered his father, calmly. "Do you think that you could get a jury in Bastia to give you a verdict?
Cauro was above them a straggling village with one large square house and a little church Cauro, the stepping-stone between civilization and those wild districts about Sartene where the law has never yet penetrated. Lory de Vasselot had gained a little on the downward incline. He could now see that his father's clothes were mud-stained and torn, that his long white hair was ill-kempt.
There is a short cut up from the valley from the mouldering Chateau de Vasselot, which is practicable for a trained horse. And Colonel Gilbert must have known this, for he had described a circle in the wooded valley in order to gain it.
She held that, next to being a soldier, it is good to be a soldier's wife and the mother of fighting men. And when she thought of the Rue du Cherche-Midi, she was not able to be amused, as the notary had said of Denise. There was a short silence in the notary's office. De Vasselot was fingering the hilt of his long cavalry sword reflectively. After a moment he glanced across at Denise.
I will take care of Lory, and Denise will but, where is Denise? I thought she was behind me." She paused to guide the men who were carrying de Vasselot through the broad doorway. "Denise!" she cried without looking round, "Denise! where are you?" Then turning, she saw Denise coming slowly down the stairs. Her face was whiter than Mademoiselle Brun's.
De Vasselot made a tragic gesture with his one available hand, and cast his eyes upwards in a mute appeal to the gods. He sighed heavily, and the expression of his face seemed to indicate a hopeless despair. "What is the matter?" she asked, with a solicitude which was perhaps slightly exaggerated. "What is one to understand? I ask you that?" said Lory, turning towards her almost fiercely.
De Vasselot mounted the Arab, and they rode slowly homewards by way of the Avenue de Longchamps, through the Porte Dauphine, and up that which is now the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, which was 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.
"Yes, and you should know it, you who are the chief of the de Vasselots, and have this woman to deal with; the women are always the worst. The chateau, they say, was burnt down, and the women disappeared from the Casa Perucca in the same week. The Casa Perucca is empty now, and the Chateau de Vasselot is gone at Olmeta they are bored enough, I can tell you."