The next morning, Paoli asked Cromillian if there was anything special on hand for that day.
“I have not seen my old mother for three months, and I thought, if you could spare me, I should like to make her a visit.”
“Go, by all means,” said Cromillian. “I know of nothing now that will require your services, particularly. I am sorry I cannot send that young fellow who brought the letter last night back with the answer. Can you pick me out a good man who can disguise himself so well that the gens d’armes at Ajaccio will not recognise him? If you can, send him here. I do not care to know who he is.”
An hour later, an apparently old man, with long white hair, a bent figure, and a wrinkled face, presented himself to Cromillian and said, in a squeaky voice:
“I was sent by Paoli.”
Cromillian did not speak, but handed him a letter addressed to Lieutenant Victor Duquesne, at the hotel at Ajaccio.
“Bring back an answer,” said Cromillian. The old man bowed and withdrew.
The bearer of the missive appeared old and decrepit until he was beyond the borders of the camp. Then he suddenly developed an agility entirely at variance with his aged appearance, for he ran at full speed along the road which led to his destination. Hearing a woodsman singing at his work, he quickly resumed the appearance of old age and maintained it until he was out of sight of the wielder of the axe.
When he arrived at the hotel, he learned that Lieutenant Duquesne was in his room. He refused to state his business, saying that what he had to deliver he must place in the Lieutenant’s hands himself. So Victor told the servant to have him shown up to his room.
The old man sat down while Victor read his letter. It was with difficulty that he refrained from exhibiting physical signs of astonishment at its contents and, on several occasions, he came near giving audible vent to his feelings. He restrained himself, however, and only the play of his naturally expressive features gave any indication of what was passing in his mind.