The Isle of Unrest Part 15

That is how the gendarmes get killed. At length Andrei Perucca raised his head over a big stone, and looked right into the muzzle of de Va.s.selot's gun. The next minute there was no head upon Perucca's shoulders."

The narrator paused, and relighted his pipe with a foul-smelling sulphur match.

"Yes," he said reflectively; "they are fine men, the de Va.s.selots."

He tapped himself on the chest with the stem of his pipe, and made a gesture towards the mountains and the sky, as if calling upon the G.o.ds to hear him.

"I am all for the de Va.s.selots--I," he said.

Colonel Gilbert leant out of the window, and quietly took stock of this valuable adherent.

"At that time," continued the speaker, "we had at Bastia a young prefect who took himself seriously. He was going to reform the world. They decided to arrest the Count de Va.s.selot, though they had not a sc.r.a.p of evidence, and the clan was strong in those days, stronger than the Peruccas are to-day. But they never caught him. They disappeared bag and baggage--went to Paris, I understand; and they say the count died there, or was perhaps killed by the Peruccas, who grew strong under Mattei, so that in a few years it would have been impossible for a de Va.s.selot to show his face in this country. Then Mattei Perucca died, and was hardly in his grave before this man came. I tell you, I saw him myself, a de Va.s.selot, 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. No honest man has set his foot across the threshold since the de Va.s.selots left it thirty years ago--only Jean is there, who has the evil eye. But there are plenty of Perucca's people up at Olmeta who would risk Jean's eye, and break down the doors of the chateau at a word from the Casa Perucca. But the girl there who is the head of the clan will not say the word. She does not understand that she is powerful if she would only go to work in the right way, and help her people. Instead of that, she quarrels with them over such small matters as the right of grazing or of cutting wood.

She will make the place too hot for her--" He broke off suddenly. "What is that?" he said, turning on the wall, which was polished smooth by constant friction.

He turned to the north and listened, looking in the direction of Cap Corse, from whence the Bastia road comes winding down the mountain slopes.

"I hear nothing," said his companion.

"Then you are deaf. It is the diligence half an hour before its time, and the driver of it is shouting as he comes--shouting to the people on the road. It seems that there is news--"

But Colonel Gilbert heard no more, for he had seized his sword, and was already halfway down the stone stairs. It appeared that he expected news, and when the diligence drew up in the narrow street, he was there awaiting it, amid a buzzing crowd, which had inexplicably a.s.sembled in the twinkling of an eye. Yes; there was a.s.suredly news, for the diligence came in at a gallop though there was no one on it but the driver. He shouted incoherently, and waved his whip above his head. Then, quite suddenly, perceiving Colonel Gilbert, he snapped his lips together, threw aside the reins, and leapt to the ground.

"Mon colonel," he said, "a word with you."

And they went apart into a doorway. Three words sufficed to tell all that the diligence driver knew, and a minute later the colonel hurried towards the stable of the inn, where his horse stood ready. He rode away at a sharp trot, not towards Bastia, but down the valley of Va.s.selot. Although it was evident that he was pressed for time, the colonel did not hurry his horse, but rather relieved it when he could by dismounting, at every sharp ascent, and riding where possible in the deep shade of the chestnut trees. He turned aside from the main road that climbs laboriously to Oletta and Olmeta, and followed the river-path. In order to gain time he presently left the path, and made a short cut across the open land, glancing up at the Casa Perucca as he did so. For he was trespa.s.sing.

He was riding leisurely enough when his horse stumbled, and, in recovering itself, clumsily kicked a great stone with such force that he shattered it to a hundred pieces, and then stood on three legs, awkwardly swinging his hoof in a way that horses have when the bone has been jarred. In a moment the colonel dismounted, and felt the injured leg carefully.

"My friend," he said kindly, "you are a fool. What are you doing? Name of a dog"--he paused, and collecting the pieces of broken quartz, threw them away into the brush--"name of a dog, what are you doing?"

With an odd laugh Colonel Gilbert climbed into the saddle again, and although he looked carefully up at the Casa Perucca, he failed to see Mademoiselle Brun's grey face amid the grey shadows of an olive tree. The horse limped at first, but presently forgot his grievance against the big stone that had lain in his path. The colonel laughed to himself in a singular way more than once at the seemingly trivial accident, and on regaining the path, turned in his saddle to look again at the spot where it had occurred.

On nearing the chateau he urged his horse to a better pace, and reached the great door at a sharp trot. He rang the bell without dismounting, and leisurely quitted the saddle. But the summons was not immediately answered. He jerked at the chain again, and rattled on the door with the handle of his riding whip. At length the bolts were withdrawn, and the heavy door opened sufficiently to admit a glance of that evil eye which the peasants did not care to face.

Before speaking the colonel made a step forward, so that his foot must necessarily prevent the closing of the door.

"The Count de Va.s.selot," said he.

"Take away your foot," replied Jean.

The colonel noted with a good-natured surprise the position of his stout riding-boot, and withdrew it.

"The Count de Va.s.selot," he repeated. "You need not trouble, my friend, to tell any lies or to look at me with your evil eye. I know the count is here, for I saw him in Paris just before he came, and I spoke to him at this very door a few weeks ago. He knows me, and I think you know me too, my friend. Tell your master I have news from France. He will see me."

Jean unceremoniously closed the door, and the colonel, who was moving away towards his horse, turned sharply on his heel when he heard the bolts being surrept.i.tiously pushed back again.

"Ah!" he said, and he stood outside the door with his hand at his moustache, reflectively following Jean's movements, "they are singularly careful to keep me out, these people."

He had not long to wait, however, for presently Lory came, stepping quickly over the high threshold and closing the door behind him. But Gilbert was taller than de Va.s.selot, and could see over his head. He looked right through the house into the little garden on the terrace, and saw someone there who was not Jean. And the light of surprise was still in his eyes as he shook hands with Lory de Va.s.selot.

"You have news for me?" inquired de Va.s.selot.

"News for every Frenchman."

"Ah!"

"Yes. The emperor has declared war against Germany."

"War!" echoed Lory, with a sudden laugh.

"Yes; and your regiment is the first on the list."

"I know, I know!" cried de Va.s.selot, his eyes alight with excitement.

"But this is good news that you tell me. How can I thank you for coming?

I must get home--I mean to France--at once. But this is great news!" He seized the colonel's hand and shook it. "Great news, mon colonel--great news!"

"Good news for you, for you are going. But I shall be left behind as usual. Yes; it is good news for you."

"And for France," cried Lory, with both hands outspread, as if to indicate the glory that was awaiting them.

"For France," said the colonel, gravely, "it cannot fail to be bad. But we must not think of that now."

"We shall never think of it," answered Lory. "This is Monday; there is a boat for Ma.r.s.eilles to-night. I leave Bastia to-night, colonel."

"And I must get back there," said the colonel, holding out his hand.

He rode thoughtfully back by the shortest route through the Lancone Defile, and, as he approached Bastia, from the heights behind the town he saw the steamer that would convey Lory to France coming northward from Bonifacio.

"Yes," he said; "he will leave Bastia to-night; and a.s.suredly the good G.o.d, or the devil, helps me at every turn of this affair."

CHAPTER XIII.

WAR.

"Since all that I can ever do for thee Is to do nothing, may'st thou never see, Never divine, the all that nothing costeth me!"

It is for kings to declare war, for nations to fight and pay. Napoleon III declared war against Russia, and France fought side by side with England in the Crimea, not because the gayest and most tragic of nations had aught to gain, but to ensure an upstart emperor a place among the monarchs of Europe. And that strange alliance was merely one move in a long game played by a consummate intriguer--a game which began disastrously at Boulogne and ended disastrously at Sedan, and yet was the most daring and brilliant feat of European statesmans.h.i.+p that has been carried out since the adventurer's great uncle went to St. Helena.

But no one knows why in July, 1870, Napoleon III declared war against Germany. The secret of the greatest war of modern times lies buried in the Imperial mausoleum at Frognal.

There is a sort of surprise which is caused by the sudden arrival of the long expected, and Germany experienced it in that hot midsummer, for there seemed to be no reason why war should break out at the moment.

Shortly before, the Spanish Government had offered the crown to the hereditary Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern, and France, ever ready to see a grievance, found herself suited. But the hereditary prince declined that throne, and the incident seemed about to close. Then quite suddenly France made a demand, with reference to any possible recurrence of the same question, which Germany could not be expected to grant. It was an odd demand to make, and in a flash of thought the great German chancellor saw that this meant war. Perhaps he had been waiting for it. At all events, he was prepared for it, as were the silent soldier, von Roon, and the gentle tactician, von Moltke. These gentlemen were away for a holiday, but they returned, and, as history tells, had merely to fill in a few dates on already prepared doc.u.ments.

If France was not ready she thought herself so, and was at all events willing. Nay, she was so eager that she shouted when she should have held her tongue. And who shall say what the schemer of the Tuileries thought of it all behind that pleasant smile, those dull and sphinx-like eyes? He had always believed in his star, had always known that he was destined to be great; and now perhaps he knew that his star was waning--that the greatness was past. He made his preparations quietly. He was never a fl.u.s.tered man, this nephew of the greatest genius the world has seen. Did he not sit three months later in front of a cottage at Donchery and impa.s.sively smoke cigarette after cigarette while waiting for Otto von Bismarck? He was a fatalist.