"It is time to quit Dantzig," said Barlasch quietly, as if he had
divined the old man's thoughts. "I know Rapp. There will be
trouble--here, on the Vistula."
But Sebastian dismissed the suggestion with a curt shake of the
head.
Barlasch's attention had been somewhat withdrawn by a smell of
cooking meat, to which he opened his nostrils frankly and noisily
after the manner of a dog.
"Then it remains," he said, looking towards the kitchen, "for
Mademoiselle to make her choice."
"There is no choice," replied Desiree, "I shall be ready to go with
you--when you have eaten."
"Good," said Barlasch, and the word applied as well to Lisa, who was
beckoning to him.
CHAPTER XXI. ON THE WARSAW ROAD.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where it most promises; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest and despair most sits.
Love, it is said, is blind. But hatred is as bad. In Antoine
Sebastian hatred of Napoleon had not only blinded eyes far-seeing
enough in earlier days, but it had killed many natural affections.
Love, too, may easily die--from a surfeit or a famine. Hatred never
dies; it only sleeps.
Sebastian's hatred was all awake now. It was aroused by the
disasters that had befallen Napoleon; of which disasters the Russian
campaign was only one small part. For he who stands above all his
compeers must expect them to fall upon him should he stumble.
Napoleon had fallen, and a hundred foes who had hitherto nursed
their hatred in a hopeless silence were alert to strike a blow
should he descend within their reach.
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