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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Because I could not come myself," he answered. "I did not want you to see that man. Or rather, I did not want him to see you. He is not one of your people quite the contrary." And de Vasselot laughed with significance. "One of yours?" she suggested. "So it appears, though I was not aware of the honour. He described you as 'that woman." Denise laughed lightly, and threw back her head.
She had been some hours in the baron's hospital before she even mentioned Lory's name. "And the Count de Vasselot?" she inquired, in her usual curt form of interrogation, as they were taking a hurried and unceremonious meal in the vestry by the light of an altar candle. The baron shook his head and gulped down his food. "No news?" inquired Mademoiselle Brun. "None."
It was to this army of the Loire that Colonel Gilbert and de Vasselot were accredited. And it was an amateur army. It came from every part of France, and in its dress it ran to the picturesque. Franctireurs de Cannes rubbed shoulders with Mobiles from the far northern departments. Spahis and Zouaves from Africa bivouacked with fair-haired men whose native tongue was German.
"You will not be betraying secrets to the first-comer," she said. Still de Vasselot seemed to hesitate, as if choosing his words.
"I have that from a reliable source," he went on, after a pause, during which Mademoiselle Brun looked steadily at Denise and said nothing. "Gracious heavens!" exclaimed the baroness, in a whisper; and for once was silenced. "A faithful correspondent on the island," explained de Vasselot. "Though why he is faithful I cannot tell you. Some family legend, perhaps I cannot tell.
She had plenty of spirit, and, at all events, that courage which refuses to admit the existence of danger. Perhaps she was not thinking of danger, or of herself, at all. "Then the Count Lory de Vasselot has ordered us out of Corsica?" she asked. "Mademoiselle, we are wasting time," answered the priest, folding the letter and replacing it in his pocket. "A yacht is awaiting you off St. Florent.
The doctor finishes right there, as the Americans say, and quite forgets to note the fact that he himself picked up de Vasselot under a spitting cross-fire, carried him into his own field hospital and there tended him. Which omission proves that to find a brave and kind heart it is not necessary to consider what outer uniform may cover, or guttural tongue distinguish, the inner man.
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 with a war every four years. "Bon Dieu!" he told his friends, "I did not sleep for two nights after I was elected to that great club." Lory de Vasselot, moreover, did his best to live up to his position.
I tell you, I saw him myself, a de Vasselot, with his father's quick way of turning his head, of sitting in the saddle lightly like a Spaniard or a Corsican. That was in the spring, and it is now July three months ago. And he has never been seen or heard of since. But he is here, I tell you; he is here in the island. As likely as not he is in the old chateau down there in the valley.
"It is our trade. You know the island well, colonel?" "No, I cannot say that. But I know the Chateau de Vasselot." "Now, that is interesting; and I who scarcely know the address! Near Calvi, is it not? A waste of rocks, and behind each rock at least one bandit so my dear mother assured me." "It might be cultivated," answered Colonel Gilbert, indifferently.
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