"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
entirely 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
tunic 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 laud that you promised to sell me."