CHAPTER VII.


JOURNEY'S END.

"The offender never pardons."


De Vasselot returned to the Baroness de Melide's pretty drawing-room, and
there, after the manner of his countrymen, made himself agreeable in that
vivacious manner which earns the contempt of all honest and, if one may
say so, thick-headed Englishmen. He laughed with one, and with another
almost wept. Indeed, to see him sympathize with an elderly countess whose
dog was grievously ill, one could only conclude that he too had placed
all his affections upon a canine life.

He outstayed the others, and then, holding out his hand to the baroness,
said curtly--

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye! What do you mean?"

"I am going to Corsica," he explained airily.

"But where did you get that idea, mon ami?"

"It came. A few moments ago, I made up my mind." And, with a gesture, he
described the arrival of the idea, apparently from heaven, upon his head,
and then a sideward jerk of the arm seemed to indicate the sudden and