There is, it appears, an esprit de sexe which prevents women from giving each other away.
“So you merely placed the letter in an envelope and are returning it, thus, without comment?” inquired the baroness.
“Yes,” answered Lory, who was writing a letter now.
And his cousin stood looking at him with an amused and yet tender smile in her gay eyes. She remained silent until he had finished.
“There,” he said, taking an envelope and addressing it hurriedly, “that is done. It is to the Abbé Susini at Olmeta; and it contains some of those things, my cousin, that I cannot tell you.”
“Do you think I care,” said the baroness, “for your stupid politics? Do you think any woman cares for politics who has found some stupid man to care for her? There is my stupid in the street—on his new horse.”
In a moment Lory was at the window.
“A new horse,” he said earnestly. “I did not know that. Why did you not tell me?”
“We were talking of empires,” replied the baroness. “By the way,” she added, in after-thought, “is our good friend Colonel Gilbert in Corsica?”
“Yes—he is at Bastia.”