It was so obvious that Mademoiselle Brun, almost imperceptibly, shrugged one shoulder. She was powerless, it appeared.
“But, if you will permit me to say so,” said Lory, sitting down and drawing near to Denise in his earnestness, “that is impossible. I will not trouble you with details, but it is an impossibility. I understand that Mattei Perucca and his agent were the two strongest men in the northern district, and they only attempted to hold their own, nothing more. With the result that you know.”
“But there are many ways of attempting to hold one's own,” persisted Denise; and she shook her head with a wisdom which only belongs to youth.
De Vasselot spread out his hands in utter despair. The end of the world, it seemed, was at hand. And Denise only laughed.
“And when I have regulated my own affairs, I will undertake the management of your estate at a high salary,” she said.
“There is only one thing to do,” said Lory, gravely, “and I have done it myself. I have abandoned the idea of ever receiving a halfpenny of rent. I have allowed the land to go out of cultivation. The vine-terraces are falling, the olive trees are dying for want of cultivation. A few peasants graze their cattle in my garden, I understand. The house itself is only saved from falling down by the fact that it is strongly built of stone. I would sell for a mere song, if I could find a serious offer of that trifle; but nobody buys land in Corsica—for the peasants recognize no title deeds and respect no rights of ownership. I had indeed an offer the other day, but it was undoubtedly a joke, and I treated it as such.”
“Denise also has had an offer to buy the Perucca property,” said Mademoiselle Brun.
“Yes,” said Denise, seeing his surprise. “And you would advise me to accept it?”
“If it is a serious one, most decidedly.”
“It is serious enough,” answered Denise. “It is from a Colonel Gilbert, an officer stationed at Bastia.”