“What news?”
“You have no doubt heard it—of Vasselot.”
“I have heard nothing, my friend, but cannon. I am from Sedan to-day.”
The man seemed to hesitate. He turned uneasily in his chair, glanced this way and that among the trees—a habit acquired in the macquis, no doubt. He took off his hat and passed his hand pensively over his hair. Then he turned to Lory.
“There is no longer a Château de Vasselot—it is gone—burnt to the ground, mon brave monsieur.”
“Who burnt it?” asked de Vasselot.
“Who knows?” replied the man. “The Peruccas, no doubt. They have a woman to lead them now!”
The man finished with a short laugh, which was unpleasant to the ear.
Lory thought of the woman who was leading the Peruccas now, who had quitted the chair in which her accuser now sat, a few minutes earlier, and smiled.
“Have you a cigarette?” asked the Corsican, bluntly.