“There is some one moving among the oleanders down by the river,” said the count, coming quickly into the room where Lory de Vasselot was sitting, one morning some days after his unexpected arrival at the chateau2.
The old man was cool enough, but he closed the window that led to the small terrace where he cultivated his carnations3, with that haste which indicates a recognition of undeniable danger, coupled with no feeling of fear.
“I know every branch in the valley,” he said, “every twig4, every leaf, every shadow. There is some one there.”
Lory rose, and laid aside the pen with which he was writing for an extended leave of absence. In four days these two had, as one of them had predicted, grown accustomed to each other. And the line between custom and necessity is a fine drawn5 one.
“Show me,” he said, going towards the window.
“Ah!” murmured the count, jerking his head. “You will hardly perceive it unless you are a hunter—or the hunted.”
Lory glanced at his father. Assuredly the sleeping mind was beginning to rouse itself.
“It is nothing but the stirring of a leaf here, the movement of a branch there, which are unusual and unnatural6.”
As he spoke7, he opened the window with that slow caution which had become habitual8 to his every thought and action.
“There,” he said, pointing with a steady hand; “to the left of that almond tree which is still in bloom. Watch those willows9 which have come there since the wall fell away, and the terrace slipped into the flooded river twenty-one years this spring. You will see the branches move. There—there! You see. It is a man, and he comes too slowly to have an honest purpose.”
“I see,” said Lory. “Is that land ours?”
The count gave an odd little laugh.
“You can see nothing from this window that is not ours,” he answered. “As much as any other man's,” he added, after a pause. For the conviction still holds good in some Corsican minds that the mountains are common property.
“He is coming slowly, but not very cautiously,” said Lory. “Not like a man who thinks that he may be watched from here. He probably is taking no heed10 of these windows, for he thinks the place is deserted11.”
“It is more probable,” replied the count, “that he is coming here to ascertain12 that fact. What the abbé has heard, another may hear, though he would not learn it from the abbé. If you want a secret kept, tell it to a priest, and of all priests, the Abbé Susini. Some one has heard that you are here in Corsica, and is creeping up to the castle to find out.”
“And I will go and find him out. Two can play at that game in the bushes,” said Lory, with a laugh.
“If you go, take a gun; one can never tell how a game may turn.”
“Yes; I will take a gun if you wish it.” And Lory went towards the door. “No,” he said, pausing in answer to a gesture made by his father, “not that one. It is of too old a make.”
And he went out of the room, leaving his father holding in his hand the gun with which he had shot Andrei Perucca thirty years before. He stood looking at the closed door with dim, reflective eyes. Then he looked at the gun, which he set slowly back in its corner.
“It seems,” he said to himself, “that I am of too old a make also.”
He went to the window, and, opening it cautiously, stood looking down into the valley. There he perceived that, though two may play at the same game, it is usually given to one to play it better than the other. For he who was climbing up the hill might be followed by a careful eye, by the chance displacement13 of a twig, the bending of a bough14; while Lory, creeping down into the valley, remained quite invisible, even to his father, upon whose memory every shadow was imprinted15.
“Aha!” laughed the old man, under his breath. “One sees that the boy is a Corsican. And,” he added, after a pause, “one would almost say that the other is not.”
In which the count's trained eye—trained as only is the vision of the hunted—was by no means deceived. For Lory, who was far down in the valley, had already caught sight of a braided sleeve, and, a moment later, recognized Colonel Gilbert. The colonel not only failed to perceive him, but was in nowise looking for him. He appeared to be entirely16 absorbed, first in the examination of the ground beneath his feet, and then in the contemplation of the rising land. In his hand he seemed to be carrying a note-book, and, so far as the watcher could see, consulted from time to time a compass.
“He is only engaged in his trade,” said Lory to himself, with a laugh; and, going out into the open, he sat down on a rock with the gun across his knee and waited.
Thus it happened that Colonel Gilbert, working his way up through the bushes, note-book in hand, looked up and saw, within a few yards of him, the owner of the land upon which they stood, whom he had every reason to believe to be in Paris.
His ruddy face was of a deeper red as he slipped his note-book within his tunic17 and came forward, holding out his hand. But his smile was as ready and good-natured as ever.
“Well met!” he said. “You find me, count, taking a professional and business-like survey of the laud18 that you promised to sell me.”
“You are welcome to take the survey,” answered Lory, taking the outstretched, cordial hand, “but I must ask you to let me keep the land. I did not take your offer seriously.”
“It was intended seriously, I assure you.”
“Then it was my mistake,” answered Lory, quite pleasantly.
He tapped himself vigorously on the chest, and made a gesture indicating that at a word from the colonel he was ready to lay violent hands upon himself for having been so foolish. The colonel laughed, and shrugged19 his shoulders as if the matter were but a small one. The pitiless Mediterranean20, almost African, sun poured down on them, and one of those short spells of absolute calm, which are characteristic of these latitudes21, made it unbearably22 hot. The colonel took off his cap, and, sitting down in quite a friendly way near de Vasselot on a rock, proceeded to mop his high forehead, pressing back the thin smooth hair which was touched here and there with grey.
“You have come here at the wrong time,” he said. “The heats have begun. One longs for the cool breezes of Paris or of Normandy.”
And he paused, giving Lory an opportunity of explaining why he had come at this time, which opportunity was promptly23 neglected.
“At all events, count,” said the colonel, replacing his cap and lighting24 a cigarette, “I did not deceive you as to the nature of the land which I wished to buy. It is a desert, as you see. And yet I cannot help thinking that something might be made of this land.”
He sat and gazed lazily in front of him. Presently, leaving his cigarette to smoulder, he began to buzz through his teeth, in the bucolic25 manner, an air of Offenbach. He was, in a word, entirely agricultural, and consequently slow of speech.
“Yes, count,” he said, with conviction, after a long pause; “there is only one drawback to Corsica.”
“Ah?”
“The Corsicans,” said the colonel, gravely. “You do not know them as I do; for I suppose you have only been here a few days?”
De Vasselot's quick eyes glanced for a moment at the colonel's face, but no reply was made to the supposition. Then the colonel fell to his guileless Offenbach again. There is nothing so innocent as the meditative26 rendering27 of a well-known tune28. A popular air is that which echoes in empty heads.
Colonel Gilbert glanced sideways at his companion. He had not thought that this was a silent man. Nature was singularly at fault in her mouldings if this slightly made, dark-eyed Frenchman was habitually29 taciturn. And the colonel was vaguely30 uneasy.
“My horse,” he said, “is up at Olmeta. I took a walk round by the river. It is my business to answer innumerable questions from the Ministry31 of the Interior. Railway projects are still in the air, you understand. I must know my Corsica. Besides, as I tell you, I thought I was on my own land.”
“I am sorry that I cannot hold to my joke, for it was nothing else, as you know.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” acquiesced32 the colonel. “And in the mean time, it is a great pleasure to see you here, as well as a surprise. I need hardly tell you that your presence here is quite unknown to your neighbours. We have little to talk about at this end of the island now that the Administration is centred more than ever at Ajaccio; and were it known in the district that you are at Vasselot, you may be sure I should have heard of it at the café or at the hotel where I dine.”
“You are wise.”
The remark was made so significantly that Lory could not ignore it even if such a course had recommended itself to one of his quick and impulsive34 nature.
“What do you mean, colonel?”
Gilbert made a little gesture of the hand that held the half-burnt cigarette. He deprecated, it would appear, having been drawn to talk on so serious a topic.
“Well, I speak as one Frenchman to another, as one soldier to another. If the emperor does not die, he will declare war against Germany. There is the situation in a nutshell, is it not? And do you think the army can afford to lose one man at the present time, especially a man who has made good use of such small opportunities of distinction as the fates have offered him? And, so far as I have been able to follow the intricacies of the parochial politics, your life is not worth two sous in this country, my dear count. There, I have spoken. A word to the wise, is it not?”
He rose, and threw away his cigarette with a nod and a smile.
“And now I must be returning. You will allow me to pass up that small pathway that leads past the chateau. Some day I should, above all things, like to see the chateau. I am interested in old houses, I tell you frankly35.”
“I will walk part of the way with you,” answered Lory, with a stiffness which was entirely due to a sense of self-reproach. For it was his instinct to be hospitable36 and open-handed and friendly. And Lory would have liked to ask the colonel then and there to come to the chateau.
“By the way,” said the colonel, as they climbed the hill together, “I did not, of course, mean to suggest that you should sell me the old house which bears your name—only a piece of land, a few hectares on this south-west slope, that I may amuse myself with agriculture, as I told you. Perhaps some day you may reconsider your decision?”
He waited for a reply to this suggestion, or an invitation in response to the hint that he was interested in the old house. But neither came.
“I am much obliged to you for your warning as to the unpopularity of my name in this district,” said Lory, rather laboriously37 changing the subject. “I had, of course, heard something of the same sort before; but I do not attach much importance to local tradition, do you?”
“These people have undergone a change,” he said at length, “since their final subjugation40 by ourselves—exactly a hundred years ago, by the way. They were a turbulent, fighting, obstinate41 people. Those qualities—good enough in times of war—go bad in times of peace. They are a lawless, idle, dishonest people now. Their grand fighting qualities have run to seed in municipal disagreements and electioneering squabbles. And, worst of all, we have grafted42 on them our French thrift43, which has run to greed. There is not a man in the district who would shoot you, count, from any idea of the vendetta44, but there are a hundred who would do it for a thousand-franc note, or in order to prevent you taking back the property which he has stolen from you. That is how it stands. And that is why Pietro Andrei came to grief at Olmeta.”
“Oh, Perucca,” he answered, “that was different. He died a more or less natural death. He was a very stout46 man, and on receiving a letter, gave way to such ungovernable rage that he fell in a fit. True, it was a threatening letter; but such are common enough in this country. It may have been a joke or may have had some comparatively harmless object. None could have foreseen such a result.”
They were now near the chateau, and the colonel rather suddenly shook hands and went away.
“I am always to be found at Bastia, and am always at your service,” he said, waving a farewell with his whip.
Lory found the door of the chateau ajar, and Jean watching behind it. His father, however, seemed to have forgotten upon what mission he had gone forth47, and was sitting placidly48 in the little room, lighted by a skylight, where they always lived. The sight of Lory reminded him, however.
“Who was it?” he asked, without showing a very keen interest.
“It was a man called Gilbert,” answered Lory, “whom I have met in Paris. An engineer. He is stationed at Bastia, and is connected with the railway scheme. A man I should like to like, and yet—He ought to be a good fellow. He has every qualification, and yet—”
Lory did not finish the sentence, but stood reflectively looking at his father.
“He has more than once offered to buy Vasselot,” he said, watching for the effect.
“You must never sell Vasselot,” replied the old man. He did not seem to conceive it possible that there should be any temptation to do so.
“I do not quite understand Colonel Gilbert,” continued Lory. “He has also offered to buy Perucca; but there I think he has to deal with a clever woman.”
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1
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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carnations
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| n.麝香石竹，康乃馨( carnation的名词复数 ) | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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7
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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8
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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10
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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11
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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12
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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displacement
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| n.移置，取代，位移，排水量 | |
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14
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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16
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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laud
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| n.颂歌；v.赞美 | |
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19
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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20
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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21
latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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unbearably
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| adv.不能忍受地，无法容忍地；慌 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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bucolic
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| adj.乡村的；牧羊的 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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29
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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30
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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31
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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32
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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34
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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38
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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40
subjugation
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| n.镇压，平息，征服 | |
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41
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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42
grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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43
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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44
vendetta
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| n.世仇，宿怨 | |
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45
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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47
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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48
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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