"
He paused and rubbed his chest tenderly.
"Never eat horse without salt," he put in parenthetically.
"I hope never to eat it at all," answered Desiree. "What about
Colonel de Casimir?"
He waved her aside as a babbler who broke in upon his thoughts.
These seemed to be lodged in his mouth, for, when reflecting, he
chewed and mumbled with his lips.
"Listen," he said at length. "This is De Casimir. He goes to bed
and lets his beard grow--half an inch of beard will keep any man in
the hospital. You nod your head. Yes; I thought so. He knows that
the viceroy, with the last of the army, is at Thorn. He keeps
quiet. He waits in his roadside inn until the last of the army has
gone. He waits until the Russians come, and to them he hands over
the Emperor's possessions--all the papers, the maps, the despatches.
For that he will be rewarded by the Emperor Alexander, who has
already promised pardon to all Poles who have taken arms against
Russia and now submit. De Casimir will be allowed to retain his own
baggage. He has no loot taken at Moscow--oh no! Only his own
baggage. Ah--that man! See, I spit him out."
And it is painful to record that he here resorted to graphic
illustration.
"Ah!" he went on triumphantly, "I know. I can see right into the
mind of such a man. I will tell you why. It is because I am that
sort of man myself."
"You do not seem to have been so successful--since you are poor,"
said Desiree, with a laugh.
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