As active hostilities seemed to be at an end, Cromillian quickly came to the decision that he and his men would be more at home in the maquis than in the Batistelli reception room.
When they reached the door, they found their way barred by a body of gens d’armes. The Mayor of Ajaccio had dispatched a special messenger to summon them, and, as usual, they had arrived after the trouble was over. Neither Cromillian nor his men feared the gens d’armes. With loud yells, they rushed forward, scattering the police as though they had been puppets.
After Cromillian and his bandits had left the castle, the gens d’armes recovered from their surprise and, with commendable courage, started in pursuit of the outlaws. Half an hour later they returned, and the leader reported to the Mayor that their search had been fruitless. That official provided them with a task much more to their liking—to act as his escort back to Ajaccio.
Dr. Procida came forward at once to see if he could be of assistance to the wounded men. After examining the Count’s body, he looked up and found Pascal regarding him attentively. The doctor shook his head, ruefully: “He is past human aid.” He then turned his attention to Julien, making his examination much more thorough. Again, he looked up—Pascal still stood regarding him fixedly.
“Nothing can be done,” he said; “he is dead.”
The evening which had opened so pleasantly had ended tragically. The guests expressed their sympathy to Pascal and to Countess Mont d’Oro, then departed quickly for their homes.
A messenger was sent to summon the servants of the Countess Mont d’Oro, and the body of the young Count was conveyed to his mother’s house.
During the evening, Miss Enright had become acquainted with the Countess and Bertha. At the latter’s suggestion, the Countess invited the Admiral and his daughter to return home with her, as it would be almost impossible to reach their vessel at that late hour, and the invitation was gladly accepted. After what had taken place, a longer residence at the Batistelli castle would have been intolerable to Helen. Her father, used to scenes of blood, would not have been so sensitive about the matter, although he warmly resented the treatment which his lieutenant had received.
“This is a most re-mark-a-ble country,” he said to his daughter, as they were on their way to the Countess Mont d’Oro’s. “I thought you said the Corsicans were noted for their hospitality, and that the person of a guest was sacred.”
“So it is,” replied Helen, “until it comes in conflict with the vendetta, whose demands are superior to custom and to all law, whether human or divine.”