When he rejoined Vivienne, he said: “I dare not stop to have you put on your dry clothing here. I do not know how badly those fellows are injured, and they may follow us. We will go a short distance and look for some place where we can secrete ourselves. I will then reload the gun and you can put on your boots, which you need more than anything else. The storm has ceased and perhaps you can reach home without stopping to change your clothing.”
There was little danger of their being overtaken. One of the assassins was likely to die from loss of blood, while the other was suffering so acutely on account of his broken jaw that he could be of little service to his companion.
The travellers reached home without experiencing any other thrilling adventures. Fortunately, Pascal had not yet returned. Vivienne made her way at once to the housekeeper’s room, where she put on the dry clothing which had been sent to her. Snodine was full of curiosity, which Vivienne satisfied by telling her as little as possible. The next day, she repeated to Victor enough of what his assailants had said to prove to him that, in his list of enemies, he must include, not only the Batistelli brothers and their adherents, but also Count Mont d’Oro and his hired minions.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD.
While Victor and Vivienne were participants in the exciting events which took place in the maquis, Bertha Renville was seated in the cosey little room which had been assigned to her, and in which she had passed many happy hours. She derived much pleasure from the thought that Jack was on the way. She had caught Count Mont d’Oro in one falsehood and did not believe his statement that her guardian, Thomas Glynne, was in Corsica. Since the Count’s accident, the real cause of which was unknown to her, for he had told a plausible story of missing his footing when stepping from his carriage, both the Countess and Bertha had passed an hour each day with him; for what woman is there who does not have some compassion for so helpless and harmless a creature as a man with a sprained ankle?
Vivienne had not felt inclined to make a confidante of Snodine, for she knew that she was a great gossip, and that what she told her would be retold the next day with many fanciful additions to the other servants. But Vivienne could place implicit trust in her old nurse, Clarine; so, the next morning, she went to her room, determined to confide in her and to ask her what could be done, if anything, to induce Julien to give up his evil ways.
She was obliged to postpone her disclosures, however, to a more opportune time, for Old Manassa had made an early morning call on Clarine and, according to his usual custom, had fallen asleep in the easy-chair which he considered his personal property when he paid a visit to the old nurse. His head had fallen forward and his wrinkled hands were clasped tightly over the huge head of the big oaken staff which was his constant companion. He declared that he was a hundred years old, and there was no one to gainsay his claim to that advanced age. He had, upon several occasions, when supposed to be asleep, evinced a comprehension of, and a marked interest in, the conversation which was going on about him. For that reason, Vivienne thought it best to put off giving Clarine an account of her adventures until she could speak to her alone.
Clarine, however, had something to say to Vivienne, being apparently unmindful of the presence of Old Manassa, or willing to have him hear what she said.
“Do you know,” asked Clarine, “that in two weeks you will be eighteen years old?”
“I really had not thought of it,” Vivienne replied. “My birthdays have never been occasions of particular enjoyment to me.”