It was a false one. He was
disguised as a common soldier--and he was in reality an officer of
the staff. But I know the name of the officer to whom he wrote his
report of his night's lodging here--his colleague in the secret
police, it would seem."
"Ah!" said D'Arragon, busying himself with his haversack.
"It was De Casimir--a Polish name. And in the last two days I have
heard of him. He has accepted the Emperor's amnesty. He has
married a beautiful woman, and is living like a prince at Cracow.
All this since the siege of Dantzig began. In time of war there is
no moment to lose, eh?"
"And the other? He who slept in this room. Has he passed through
Konigsberg again?"
"No, that he has not. If he had, I should have seen him. You can
believe me, I wanted to see him. I was at my place on the bridge
all the time--while the French occupied Konigsberg--when the last of
them hurried away a month ago with the Cossacks close behind. No.
I should have seen him, and known him. He is not on this side of
the Niemen, that fine young gentleman. Now, what can I do to help
you to-morrow?"
"You can help me on the way to Vilna," answered D'Arragon.
"You will never get there."
"I will try," said the sailor.
CHAPTER XXVII. A FLASH OF MEMORY.
Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven,
No pyramids set off his memories,
But the eternal substance of his greatness
To which I leave him.
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