"I will find out from the Abbe Susini or the mayor whether the Count de
Vasselot is really here," Denise said, as they approached the village.
"And if he is, we will go and see him. We cannot go on like this. He says
do not sell, and then he does not come near us. He must give his reasons.
Why should I take his advice?"

"Why, indeed?" said Mademoiselle Brun, to whom the question was not quite
a new one.

She knew that though Denise would rebel against de Vasselot's advice, she
would continue to follow it.

"It seems to be luncheon-time," said Denise, when they reached the
village. "The place is deserted. It must be their _dejeuner_."

"It may be," responded mademoiselle, with her manlike curtness of speech.

They went into the church, which was empty, and stayed but a few minutes
there, for Mademoiselle Brun was as short in her speech with God as with
men. When they came out to the market-place, that also was deserted,
which was singular, because the villagers in Corsica spend nearly the
whole day on the market-place, talking politics and whispering a hundred
intrigues of parochial policy; for here a municipal councillor is a great
man, and usually a great scoundrel, selling his favour and his vote,
trafficking for power, and misappropriating the public funds. Not only
was the market-place empty, but some of the house-doors were closed. The
door of a small shop was even shut from within as they approached, and
surreptitiously barred. Mademoiselle Brun noticed it, and Denise did not
pretend to ignore it.