"Where is Charles?" asked Desiree curtly. She had suddenly realized
how intensely she had always disliked De Casimir, and distrusted
him.
"Has he not returned to Dantzig?" was the ready answer. "He should
have been there a week ago. We parted at Vilna. He was exhausted--
a mere question of over-fatigue--and at his request I left him there
to recover and to pursue his way to Dantzig, where he knew you would
be awaiting him."
He paused and looked from one to the other with quick and furtive
eyes. He felt himself easily a match for them in quickness of
perception, in rapid thought, in glib speech. Both were dumb--he
could not guess why. But there was a steadiness in D'Arragon's eyes
which rarely goes with dulness of wit. This was a man who could be
quick at will--a man to be reckoned with.
"You are wondering why I travel under your cousin's name, Monsieur,"
said De Casimir, with a friendly smile.
"Yes," returned Louis, without returning the smile.
"It is simple enough," explained the sick man. "At Vilna we found
all discipline relaxed. There were no longer any regiments. There
was no longer staff. There was no longer an army. Every man did as
he thought best. Many, as you know, elected to await the Russians
at Vilna, rather than attempt to journey farther. Your cousin had
been given the command of the escort which has now filtered away,
like every other corps. He was to conduct back to Paris two
carriages laden with imperial treasure and certain papers of value.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218