“Why, bless my soul!” cried the Admiral, “what a re-mark-a-ble idea to leave us alone in a strange country, with no one to protect us and avenge our honour in case we are insulted.”
“I had not intended,” said Victor, “to accept the invitation, so I asked you not to mention it to your daughter. Upon second thoughts, which they say are best, I have decided to go, if she be willing.” He turned to Helen: “You have kindly settled my uncertainty on that point.”
“We had intended to go to-day,” said the Admiral, “but Helen lost so much sleep last night that I told the landlord we should remain another day.”
Why had Vandemar Della Coscia changed his mind? Since reading his father’s letter, he had given serious thought to his present situation and his future actions in what he had learned was his native land. If, as his father said, the Batistellis were his sworn enemies and would seek his life as soon as they discovered his identity, would it not be a wise course, he argued, to visit them, now that he was unknown to them, and learn the character of the men with whom he had to deal.
He did not know that the story was rife throughout Corsica that Vandemar Della Coscia would soon return, despite the threats of his enemies, and claim his heritage. If he had known this, he probably would not have been so self-confident and would have been satisfied to remain in seclusion at the hotel until his father appeared. The rumour about Vandemar’s intended return had started, as most rumours do, from nothing. One day, while Paoli was conversing with Cromillian, he remarked that if Manuel Della Coscia or his son Vandemar did not return soon to Corsica and reclaim their inheritance, it would escheat to the government, according to the law.
“Don’t you worry yourself about that,” Cromillian replied. “Both father and son will be in Corsica before they lose their rights.”
The next day, Paoli told several of his companions, in strict confidence, that he had it on the best authority that Vandemar Della Coscia was coming back to Corsica, and on no very distant day, either. So interesting a rumour soon spread throughout the island, and there were hundreds of sharp eyes which inspected all strangers carefully.
While the little party at the hotel was waiting for the time to arrive which would mark its departure for Batistelli Castle, an interesting event was taking place in the rather humdrum life of their prospective host.
Count Mont d’Oro’s coachman, who had driven him to the duel, easily divined what had taken place in the old shed that night. Villefort had given him a louis d’or and told him to keep his mouth shut, but the coachman spent the louis d’or for wine at Madame Valliet’s, and when he opened his mouth to drink the wine, he did not shut it again until he had told all that he knew, together with some fanciful additions. Julien Batistelli, who was a constant visitor at Madame Valliet’s cabaret, heard the story, and, naturally, told it to his brother. Pascal at once visited the Count to express his sympathy and to ask whether he could be of any service.
It chanced that Bertha was passing her prescribed hour with the Count, and was reading to him when M. Batistelli was announced. She started to leave the room, but, before she could do so, the Count introduced his visitor and she was obliged to remain. M. Batistelli was thought to be insensible to the charms of women, and it was for that reason, probably, that the Count made him acquainted with Miss Renville. To the Count’s surprise, however, Pascal entered into an animated conversation with Bertha and made himself so agreeable and was, apparently, so regardless of the Count’s suffering that the latter groaned loudly—not really from pain, but actually from sheer jealousy. Before leaving, Pascal said that he should take the opportunity to pay his respects to the Countess, should ask her to visit them when some expected guests arrived, and he hoped that Miss Renville would accompany her.