The priest threw up his hands in angry bewilderment.
“That is it!” he cried. “I wish I knew.”
“Then find out,” said mademoiselle, “between now and Wednesday.”
And with a curt nod she left him.
CHAPTER XXIV. CE QUE FEMME VEUT.
“All nature is but art, unknown to thee!
All chance, direction which thou canst not see.”
It rained all night with a semi-tropical enthusiasm. The autumn rains are looked for in these latitudes at certain dates, and if by chance they fail, the whole winter will be disturbed and broken. With sunrise, however, the clouds broke on the western side of the island, and from the summit of the great Perucca rock the blue and distant sea was visible through the grey confusion of mist and cloud. The autumn had been a dry one, so the whole mountain-side was clothed in shades of red and brown, rising from the scarlet of the blackberry leaves to the deep amber of the bare rock, where all vegetation ceased. The distant peeps of the valley of Vasselot glowed blue and purple, the sea was a bright cobalt, and through the broken clouds the sun cast shafts of yellow gold and shimmering silver. The whole effect was dazzling, and such as dim Northern eyes can scarce imagine.
Mademoiselle Brun, who had just risen from the table where she and Denise had had their early breakfast of coffee and bread, was standing by the window that opened upon the verandah where old Mattei Perucca had passed so many hours of his life.