"
The Commandant glanced at the Prince, then at the priest, who stood
passive, listening, with his back to the wall, his loose-lidded eyes
studying me from the lantern's penumbra.
"What possible interest--" begun the Commandant.
"By the crown of Corsica," I interrupted, "I mean the material crown
of the late King Theodore, at this moment concealed (if I mistake
not) somewhere in this cottage. In it I may claim a certain
interest, seeing that I brought it from England to this island, and
that the Prince Camillo here--whose father gave it to me--is trading
it to you by fraud. Yes, _messere_, he may claim that it belongs to
him by right; but he obtained it from me by fraud, as neither he nor
his sister can deny. That perhaps might pass: but when he--he a son
of Corsica--goes on to sell it to Genoa, I reassert my claim."
Again the Commandant shrugged his shoulders. It consoled me to note
that his glance at the Prince was by no means an admiring one.
"I am a soldier," he said curtly. "I do not deal in sentiment; nor
is it my business, when a bargain comes to me--a bargain in which I
can serve my country--to inquire into how's and why's.
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