“At first a victory is always a great one,” said D'Arragon, looking towards the window.
“It is so easy to ring a bell,” added Sebastian, with his rare smile.
He was quite himself this morning, and only once did the dull look arrest his features into the stony stillness which his daughters knew.
“You are the only one of your name in Dantzig,” said D'Arragon, in the course of question and answer as to the safe delivery of letters in time of war.
“So far as I know, there is no other Sebastian,” replied he; and Desiree, who had guessed the motive of the question, which must have been in D'Arragon's mind from the beginning, was startled by the fulness of the answer. It seemed to make reply to more than D'Arragon had asked. It shattered the last faint hope that there might have been another Sebastian of whom Charles had written.
“For myself,” said D'Arragon, changing the subject quickly, “I can now make sure of receiving letters addressed to me in the care of the English Consul at Riga, or the Consul at Stockholm, should you wish to communicate with me, or should Madame find leisure to give me news of her husband.”
“Desiree will no doubt take pleasure in keeping you advised of Charles's progress. As for myself, I fear I am a bad correspondent. Perhaps not a desirable one in these days,” said Sebastian, his face slowly clearing. He waved the point aside with a gesture that looked out of place on a hand lean and spare, emerging from a shabby brown sleeve without cuff or ruffle.
“For I feel assured,” he went on, “that we shall continue to hear good news of your cousin; not only that he is safe and well, but that he makes progress in his profession. He will go far, I am sure.”
D'Arragon bowed his acknowledgment of this kind thought, and rose rather hastily.
“My best chance of quitting the city unseen,” he said, “is to pass through the gates with the market-people returning to the villages. To do that, I must not delay.”