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country, whatever Father Corbelan may say. And I’m not so
much of an unbeliever as not to have faith in my own ideas,
in my own remedies, in my own desires.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Gould, doubtfully.
‘You don’t seem convinced,’ Decoud went on again in
French. ‘Say, then, in my passions.’
Mrs. Gould received this addition unflinchingly. To
understand it thoroughly she did not require to hear his
muttered assurance—
‘There is nothing I would not do for the sake of Antonia.
There is nothing I am not prepared to undertake. There is
no risk I am not ready to run.’
Decoud seemed to find a fresh audacity in this voicing of
his thoughts. ‘You would not believe me if I were to say that
it is the love of the country which—‘
She made a sort of discouraged protest with her arm, as
if to express that she had given up expecting that motive
from any one.
‘A Sulaco revolution,’ Decoud pursued in a forcible un-
dertone. ‘The Great Cause may be served here, on the very
spot of its inception, in the place of its birth, Mrs. Gould.’
Frowning, and biting her lower lip thoughtfully, she
made a step away from the door.
‘You are not going to speak to your husband?’ Decoud ar-
rested her anxiously.
‘But you will need his help?’
‘No doubt,’ Decoud admitted without hesitation. ‘Every-
thing turns upon the San Tome mine, but I would rather he
didn’t know anything as yet of my—my hopes.’