"But mademoiselle is the good angel of Mademoiselle Lange, my dear, dull
Lory," explained the baroness; and the object of the elucidation looked
at him more keenly than so trifling an incident would seem to warrant.

"You will not be betraying secrets to the first-comer," she said.

Still de Vasselot seemed to hesitate, as if choosing his words.

"And," he said at length, "they shot your cousin's agent in the back,
almost in the streets of Olmeta, and Mattei Perucca himself died
suddenly, presumably from apoplexy, brought on by a great anger at
receiving a letter threatening his life--that is how it has come about,
mademoiselle."

He broke off short, with a quick gesture and a flash of his eyes, usually
so pleasant and smiling.

"I have that from a reliable source," he went on, after a pause, during
which Mademoiselle Brun looked steadily at Denise and said nothing.

"Gracious heavens!" exclaimed the baroness, in a whisper; and for once
was silenced.

"A faithful correspondent on the island," explained de Vasselot. "Though
why he is faithful I cannot tell you. Some family legend, perhaps--I
cannot tell. It is the Abbe Susini of Olmeta who has told me this. He it
was who told me of your--well, I can only call it your misfortune,
mademoiselle. For there is assuredly a curse upon Corsica as there is
upon Ireland. It cannot govern itself, and no other can govern it. The
Napoleons have been the only men to make anything of the island, but a