On the fifteenth day after our arrival, about noon, as I stood on the terrace making some changes, under Count Saxe’s eye, for one of the guns to be planted there, I happened to glance toward the point of the mainland, and saw a strange figure standing there waving 101 a crimson mantle by way of a signal; and it was Francezka’s mantle.
Count Saxe saw it as soon as I, and recognized it.
“Go you at once, with a boat,” he said, and I lost no time.
When I stepped out of the boat on the mainland, the fellow who had been signaling came up to me. He was barelegged, and wore the tattered uniform of a Russian foot soldier, with a sheepskin mantle, but he spoke remarkably good French for a foot soldier.
“I have a letter,” he said in French, “for Count Saxe.”
“You mean,” I replied, “for his Highness, the Duke of Courland. Give it me then, and, also, that mantle.” And I shoved a gold piece into his hand. He grinned and gave up both the mantle and the letter.
With them, I returned to the island. Count Saxe met me at the landing place, and I handed him the letter, which was from Gaston Cheverny. It read:
Your Highness:
Here I am with my young brother François, in the hands of the Russians. François is young and delicate, and must be succored. A ransom of ten thousand crowns is asked for us both—nor will the Russians agree to part with one of us without the other. François must be succored, I say. My estate in France is not great, but it is ten thousand crowns at least, and I think the ransom not excessive. François, I repeat, must be succored. Your Highness’s ever faithful
Gaston Cheverny.
Count Saxe looked at me reflectively, after I had read the letter.