The Isle of Unrest Part 37

"It is what Jean and I have been trying to get these three months,"

answered the priest.

He sat up in bed, and from that difficult position, did the honours of his apartment with an una.s.sailable dignity.

"Sit down," he said, "and I will tell you a very long story. Not that chair--those are my clothes, my best soutane for this occasion--the other. That is well."

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE ABBe'S SALAD.

"He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all."

"And mademoiselle's witnesses?" inquired the notary, when he had accommodated the ladies with chairs.

"Will arrive at ten o'clock," answered Mademoiselle Brun, with a glance at the notary's clock.

It was three minutes to ten. The notary was a young man, with smooth hair brushed straight back from a high forehead. He was one of those men who look clever, which, in some respects, is better than being clever. For a man who really has brains usually perceives his own limitations, while he who looks clever, and is not, has that boundless faith in himself which serves to carry men very far in a world which is too lazy to get up and kick impertinence as it pa.s.ses.

The room had that atmosphere of mixed stuffiness and cigarette smoke which the traveller may sample in any French post-office. It is also the official air of a court of justice or a public bureau of any sort in France. There was a blank s.p.a.ce on the wall, where a portrait of the emperor had lately hung. The notary would fill it by-and-by with a president or a king, or any face of any man who was for the moment in authority. Behind him, on the wall, was suspended a photograph of an elderly lady--his mother. It established confidence in the hearts of female clients, and reminded persons with daughters that this rising lawyer had as yet no wife.

The notary's bow to Mademoiselle Brun when she was seated was condescending, which betrayed the small fact that he was not so clever as he looked. To Denise he endeavoured to convey in one graceful inclination from the waist the deep regard of a legal adviser, struggling n.o.bly to keep in bounds the overwhelming admiration of a man of heart and (out of office hours) of spirit. Gilbert, who had already exchanged greetings with the ladies, was leaning against the window, playing idly with the blind-cord. The notary's office was on the third floor. The colonel could not, therefore, see the pavement without leaning out, and the window was shut. Mademoiselle Brun noted this as she sat with crossed hands. She also remembered that the Hotel Clement was on the same side of the Boulevard du Palais as the house in which she found herself.

The notary had intended to be affable, but he dimly perceived that Denise was what he tersely called in his own mind _grande dame_, and was wise enough to busy himself with his papers in silence. He also suspected that Colonel Gilbert was a friend of these ladies, but he did not care to take advantage of his privilege in the presence of a fourth person, which left an unpleasant flavour on the palate of the smooth-haired lawyer. He glanced involuntarily at the blank s.p.a.ce on the wall, and thought of the Republic.

"I have prepared a deed of sale," he said, in a formal voice, "which is as binding on both sides as if the full purchase-money had been exchanged for the t.i.tle-deeds. All that will remain to be done after the present signature will be the usual legal formalities between notaries.

Mademoiselle has but to sign here." And he indicated a blank s.p.a.ce on the doc.u.ment.

Mademoiselle Brun was looking at the timepiece on the notary's wall. The town clocks were striking the hour. A knock at the door made the notary turn, with his quill pen still indicating the s.p.a.ce for Denise's signature. It was the dingy clerk who sat in a sort of cage in the outer office. After opening the door he stood aside, and Susini came in with glittering eyes and a defiant chin. There was a pause, and Lory de Va.s.selot limped into the room after him. He was smiling and pleasant as he always was; even, his friends said, on the battlefield.

He looked at Denise, met her eyes for a moment and turned to bow with grave politeness to Gilbert. It was, oddly enough, the colonel who brought forward a chair for the wounded man.

"Sit down," he said curtly.

"These are my witnesses, Monsieur le Notaire," said Mademoiselle Brun.

The abbe was rubbing his thin, brown hands together, and contemplating the notary's table as a greedy man might contemplate a laden board. The notary himself was looking from one to the other. There was something in the atmosphere which he did not understand. It was, perhaps, the presence in the room of a cleverer head than his own, and he did not know upon whose shoulders to locate it. Denise, whose nature was frank and straightforward, was looking at Lory--looking him reflectively up and down--as a mother might look at a son of whose health she refrains from asking. Mademoiselle was gazing at the blank s.p.a.ce on the wall, and the colonel was looking at mademoiselle with an odd smile.

He was standing in the embrasure of the window, and at this moment glanced at his watch. The notary looked at him inquiringly; for his att.i.tude seemed to indicate that he expected some one else. And at this moment the music of a military band burst upon their ears. The colonel looked over his shoulder down into the street. He had his watch in his hand. De Va.s.selot rose instantly and went to the window. He stood beside the colonel, and those in the notary's office could see that they were talking quickly and gravely together, though the music drowned their voices. Behind them, on the notary's table, lay their differences; in front lay that which bound them together with the strongest ties between man and man--their honour and the honour of France. The music died away, followed by the diminis.h.i.+ng sound of steady feet. All in the room were silent for a few moments, until the two soldiers turned from the window and came towards the table.

Then the notary spoke:--

"Mademoiselle has but to sign here," he repeated.

He indicated the exact spot, dipped the pen in the ink, and handed it to Denise. She took the pen and half turned towards Lory, as if she knew that he would be the next to speak and wished him to understand once and for all that he would speak in vain.

"Mademoiselle cannot sign there," he said.

Denise dipped the pen into the ink again, but she did not sign.

"Why not?" she asked without looking round, her hand still resting on the paper.

"Because," answered Lory, addressing her directly, "Perucca is not yours to sell. It is mine."

Denise turned and looked straight at Colonel Gilbert. She had never been quite sure of him. He had never appeared to her to be quite in earnest.

His face showed no surprise now. He had known this all along, and did not even take the trouble to feign astonishment. The notary gave a polite, incredulous, legal laugh.

"That is an old story, Monsieur le Comte."

At which point Susini so far forgot himself as to make use of a rude local method of showing contempt in pretending to spit upon the notary's floor.

"It is as old as you please," answered Lory, half turning towards Gilbert, who in his turn made a gesture in the direction of the notary, as if to say that the lawyer had received his instructions and knew how to act.

"Of course," said the notary in a judicial voice, "we are aware that the conveyance of the Perucca estate by the late Count de Va.s.selot to the late Mattei Perucca lacked formality; many conveyances in Corsica lacked formality in the beginning of the century. In many cases possession is the only t.i.tle-deed. We can point to a possession lasting over many years, which carries the more weight from the fact that the late count and his neighbour Monsieur Perucca were notoriously on bad terms. If the count had been able, he would no doubt have evicted from Perucca a neighbour so unsympathetic."

"You seem," said de Va.s.selot, quickly, "to be prepared for my objection."

The notary spread out his hands in a gesture that conveyed a.s.sent.

"And if I had not come?"

"I regret to say, Monsieur le Comte, that your presence here bears little upon the transaction in hand. You are only a witness. Mademoiselle will no doubt complete the doc.u.ment now."

And the notary again handed Denise a pen.

"Hardly upon a t.i.tle-deed which consists of possession only."

"Pardon me, but you have even less," said the notary. "If I may remind you of it, you have probably no t.i.tle-deeds to Va.s.selot itself since the burning of the chateau."

"There you are wrong," answered Lory, quietly. And the abbe snapped both fingers and thumbs in a double-barrelled _feu de joie_.

"The count may have possessed t.i.tle-deeds before his death, thirty years ago," said the notary, with that polite patience in argument which the certain winner alone can compa.s.s.

Then the colonel's quiet voice broke into the conversation. His manner was politely indifferent, and seemed to plead for peace at any cost.

"I should much like to be done with these formalities," he said--"if I may be allowed to suggest a little prompt.i.tude. The troops are moving, as you have heard. In an hour's time I sail for Ma.r.s.eilles with these men.

Let us finish with the signatures."

"Let us, on the contrary, delay signing until the war is over," suggested Lory.

"You cannot bring your father to life again, monsieur, and you cannot manufacture t.i.tle-deeds. Your father, the notary tells us, has been dead thirty years, and the Chateau de Va.s.selot has been burnt with all the papers in it. You have no case at all."

Lory was unb.u.t.toning his tunic, awkwardly with one hand.