"The Abbe Susini awaits you in the library," she said. "He asked for you and not for mademoiselle, who has gone to her own garden."
Mademoiselle hurried into the library. The arrival of the abbe at this moment seemed providential, though the explanation of it was simple enough.
"I came," he said, looking at her keenly, "on a fool"s errand. I came to ask whether the ladies were afraid."
Mademoiselle gave a chilly smile.
"The ladies were not afraid, Monsieur l"Abbe," she said. "They were terrified--since you ask."
She went to a side-table and brought a newspaper; for even in her excitement she was scrupulously tidy. She laid it on the table in front of the abbe, rather awkwardly with her left hand, and then, holding her right over the newspaper, she suddenly opened it, and let fall a little heap of stones and soil. Some of the stones had a singular rounded appearance.
The abbe treated her movements with the kindly interest offered at the shrine of childhood or imbecility. It was evident that he supposed that the landslip had unhinged Mademoiselle Brun"s reason.
"What is that?" he asked soothingly, contemplating the mineral trophy.
"I think," answered mademoiselle, "that it is the explanation."
"The explanation of what, if one may inquire?"
"Of your precious colonel," said mademoiselle. "That is gold, Monsieur L"Abbe. I have seen similar dirt in a museum in Paris." She took up one of the pebbles. "Sc.r.a.pe it with your knife," she said, handing it to him.
The abbe obeyed her, and volunteered on his own account to bite it. He handed it back to her with the marks of his teeth on it, and one side of it sc.r.a.ped clean showing pure gold. Then he walked pensively to the window, where he stood with his back turned to her in deep thought for some minutes. At length he turned on his heel and looked at her.
"It began," he said, holding up one finger and shaking it slowly from side to side, which seemed to indicate that his hearer must be silent for a while, "long ago. I see it now."
"Part of it," corrected mademoiselle, inexorably.
"He must have discovered it two years ago when he first surveyed this country for the proposed railway. I see now why that man from St. Florent shot Pietro Andrei on the high-road. Pietro Andrei was in the way, and a little subtle revival of a forgotten vendetta secured his removal. I see now whence came the anonymous letter intended to frighten Mattei Perucca away from here. It frightened him into the next world."
"And I see now," interrupted the refractory listener, "why Denise received an offer for the estate before she had become possessed of it, and an offer of marriage before we had been here a month. But he tripped and fell then," she concluded grimly.
"And all for money," said the abbe, contemptuously.
"Wait," said mademoiselle--"wait till you have yourself been tempted. So many fall. It must be greater than we think, that temptation. You and I perhaps have never had it."
"No," replied the abbe, simply. "There has never been more than a sou in my poor-box at the church. I see now," continued Susini, "who has been stirring up this old strife between the Peruccas and the Va.s.selots--offering, as he was, to buy from one and the other alternately. This _dirt_, mademoiselle, must lie on both estates."
"It lies between the two."
The priest was deep in thought, rubbing his stubbly chin with two fingers.
"I see so much now," he said at length, "which I never understood before."
He turned towards the window, and looked down at the rocky slope with a new interest.
"There must be a great quant.i.ty of it," he said reflectively. "He has walked over so many obstacles to get to it, with his pleasant laugh."
"He has walked over his own heart," said mademoiselle, persistently contemplating the question from the woman"s point of view.
The priest moved impatiently.
"I was thinking of men"s lives," he said. Then he turned and faced her with a sudden gleam in his eye. "There is one thing yet unexplained--the burning of the Chateau de Va.s.selot. An empty house does not ignite itself. Explain me that."
Mademoiselle shrugged her shoulders.
"That still remains to be explained," she said. "In the mean time we must act."
"I know that--I know that," he cried. "I have acted! I am acting! De Va.s.selot arrives in Corsica to-morrow night. A letter from him crossed the message I sent to him by a special boat from St. Florent last night."
"What brings him here?"
The abbe turned and looked at her with scorn.
"Bah!" he cried. "You know as well as I. It is the eyes of Mademoiselle Denise."
He took his hat and went towards the door.
"On Wednesday morning, if you do not see me before, at the office of the notary, in the Boulevard du Palais at Bastia," he said. "Where there will be a pretty salad for Mister the Colonel, prepared for him by a woman and a priest--eh! Both your witnesses shall be there, mademoiselle--both."
He broke off with a laugh and an upward jerk of the head.
"Ah! but he is a pretty scoundrel, your colonel."
"He is not my colonel," returned Mademoiselle Brun. "Besides, even he has his good points. He is brave, and he is capable of an honest affection."
The priest gave a scornful laugh.
"Ah! you women," he cried. "You think that excuses everything. You do not know that if it is worth anything it should make a man better instead of worse. Otherwise it is not worth a snap of my finger--your honest affection."
And he came back into the room on purpose to snap his finger, in his rude way, quite close to Mademoiselle Brun"s parchment face.
CHAPTER XXV.
ON THE GEEAT ROAD.
"Look in my face; my name is Might-Have-Been.
I am also called No More, Too Late, Farewell,"
"This," said the captain of the Jane, the Baron de Melide"s yacht, "is the bay of St. Florent. We anchor a little further in."
"Yes," answered Lory, who stood on the bridge beside the sailor, "I know it. I am glad to see it again--to smell the smell of Corsica again."
"Monsieur le Comte is attached to his native country?" suggested the captain, consulting the chart which he held folded in his hand.