"Go out into the garden!" cried Suzanne, in great alarm. "Don't think of such a thing. It would be very dangerous, I am sure."
"That is all nonsense, my dear Suzanne," said Cloarek, turning toward the door. "You are as great a coward as Thérèse."
"First, let me go and wake Segoffin, monsieur," pleaded Suzanne. "I tried before I came to you, but this time I will knock so loud that he can't help hearing me."
"And at the same time wake my daughter and frighten her nearly to death by all this hubbub in the house."
"You are right, monsieur, and yet you ought not to venture out entirely alone."
"What are you doing, Onésime?" asked Cloarek, seeing the younger man making his way toward the door. "Where are you going?"
"I am going with you, monsieur."
"And what for?"
"My aunt thinks there may be some danger, monsieur."
"And of what assistance could you be?" asked Yvon, not curtly or scornfully this time, for Onésime's devotion touched him.
"It is true that I can be of very little assistance," sighed the unfortunate youth, "but if there is any danger, I can at least share it, and, though my sight is poor, perhaps, as a sort of compensation, I can hear remarkably well, so I may be able to find out which way the men went if they are still prowling around the house."
This artless offer was made with such evident sincerity, that Cloarek, exchanging a compassionate look with Suzanne, said, kindly:
"I thank you for your offer, my young friend, and I would accept it very gratefully if your hand did not require attention. The burn is evidently a deep one, and must pain you very much, so you had better attend to it without further delay, Suzanne," he added, turning to the housekeeper.
Cloarek went out into the garden. The moon was shining brightly on the sleeping waves. A profound stillness pervaded the scene, and no other human being was visible. Climbing upon the wall, he gazed into the depths below, for the garden wall on the side next the sea was built upon the brow of a steep cliff. Cloarektried to discover if the grass and shrubbery on the side of the cliff had been broken or trampled, but the investigation revealed no trace of any recent visitor. He listened attentively, but heard only the murmur of the waves as they broke upon the beach, and, concluding that there was no cause for alarm as such a thing as a robbery had not been heard of since Sabine had lived there, he was about to leave the terrace and reënter the house when he saw one of those rockets that are used in the navy as signals at night suddenly dart up from behind a clump of bushes half-way up the beach.
The rocket swiftly described a curve, its stream of light gleaming brightly against the dark blue heavens for an instant, then died out. This occurrence seemed so remarkable to Cloarek, that he hastily retraced his steps to see if there were any vessel in sight to respond to this signal from the shore, but no vessel of any sort or kind was visible,—only the broad expanse of ocean shimmering in the moonlight met his gaze.
After vainly endeavouring to explain this singular occurrence for some time, but finally deciding that the rocket must have been fired by smugglers as a signal, he returned to the house.
This occurrence, which ought, perhaps, to have furnished the captain with abundant food for thought, closely following as it did the bold abduction of which he had been the victim, was speedily forgotten in the grave reflections that his conversation with Onésime had awakened.
When Cloarek rapped at the door of his daughter's room the next morning, she promptly responded to the summons, smiling and happy.
"Well, my child, did you rest well?" he inquired.
"Splendidly, father. I had the most delightful dreams, for you bring me happiness even in my sleep."
"Tell me about these delightful dreams. I am always anxious to hear about everything that makes you happy, whether it be an illusion or reality," he responded, anxious to bring the conversation around naturally to the subject of Onésime. "Come, I am listening. What brilliant castles in Spain did you behold in your slumbers?"
"Oh, I am not ambitious, father, even in my dreams."
"Is that really so, my child?"
"It is indeed, father. My desires are very modest. Luxury and display have no charms for me. I dreamed last night that I was spending my life with you,—with you and dear Suzanne, and with Segoffin, who is so warmly attached to you."
"And who else?"
"Oh, yes, I forgot."
"Thérèse, I suppose?"
"No, not Thérèse."
"Who was it, then?"
"M. Onésime."
"M. Onésime? I do not understand that. How did M. Onésime happen to be living with us?"
"We were married."
The words were uttered in such a frank and ingenuous manner that Cloarek could not doubt the perfect truthfulness of his daughter's account; and rather in doubt as to whether he ought to congratulate himself on this singular dream or not, he asked, a little anxiously:
"So you and M. Onésime were married, you say?"
"Yes, father."
"And I had consented to the marriage?"
"You must have done so, as we were married. I don't mean that we were just married,—we seemed to have been married a long time. We were all in the parlour. Three of us, you and Onésime and I, were sitting on the big sofa. Suzanne was crocheting by the window, and Segoffin was on his knees fixing the fire. You had been silent for several minutes, father, when, suddenly taking M. Onésime's hand and mine,—you were sitting between us,—you said: 'Do you know what I have been thinking?' 'No, father,' M. Onésime and I answered (for naturally he, too, called you father). 'Well,' you continued, 'I have been thinking that there is not a happier man in the world than I am. To have two children who adore each other, and two faithful old servants, or rather two tried friends, and spend one's life in peace and plenty with them, surely this is enough and more than enough to thank the good God for now and always, my children.' And as you spoke, father, your eyes filled with tears."
"Waking as well as dreaming, you are, and ever will be, the best and most affectionate of daughters," said Cloarek, deeply touched. "But there is one thing about your dream that surprises me very much."
"And what is that?"
"Your marriage with Onésime."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"How strange. It seemed so perfectly natural to me that I wasn't at all surprised at it."
"But in the first place, though this is not the greatest objection, by any means, M. Onésime has no fortune."
"But how often you have told me that all these business trips, and all these frequent absences that grieve me so much, have been made solely for the purpose of amassing a handsome dowry for me."
"That is true."
"Then, in that case, M. Onésime does not need any fortune."
"Nevertheless, though it is not absolutely indispensable that M. Onésime should possess a fortune, it is certainly very desirable. There is another objection."
"Another?"
"M. Onésime has no profession and consequently no assured social position."
"He is not to blame for that, poor fellow! Who could possibly consider his enforced idleness a crime? Will, education, capability, none of these are lacking. It is his terrible infirmity that proves such an obstacle to everything he undertakes."
"You are right, my child; this infirmity is an insuperable obstacle that will unfortunately prevent him from achieving success in any career; from creating any position for himself, and even from marrying, except in dreams, understand."
"I don't understand you at all, my dear father. I really don't."
"What! my child, don't you understand that it would be folly in any woman to marry a half-blind man who cannot see ten feet in front of him? don't you understand that in such a case the rôles would be entirely reversed, and that, instead of protecting his wife, as every man ought to do, M. Onésime will have to be protected by the woman who would be foolish enough to marry him?"
"It seems to me only right that the person who is able to protect the other should do so."
"Certainly; but this duty devolves upon the man."
"Yes, when he is able to fulfil this duty; when he is not, it devolves upon the wife."
"If she is foolish enough, I repeat, to accept such a life of self-sacrifice and weighty responsibility."
"Foolish?"
"Idiotic, rather. Don't look at me so indignantly."
"Listen to me, father."
"I am listening."
"You have reared me with the utmost kindness and devotion; you have anticipated my every wish; you have surrounded me with every comfort; and for my sake you have exposed yourself to all the fatigue and discomfort of long business trips. Am I not right?"
"It was not only a pleasure, but my duty to do these things for you, my dear child."
"A duty?"
"The most sacred of all duties."
"To protect me—to be my guide and my support, you mean, do you not?"
"Precisely. It is the duty of every parent."
"That is exactly what I was coming at," said Sabine, with amusingnaïveté. "It is a father's duty to protect his child, you say?"
"Certainly."
"But, father, suppose that you should meet with an accident during one of your journeys; suppose, for instance, that you should lose your sight, would I be foolish or idiotic if I did everything in my power to repay you for all you have done for me, and to act, in my turn, the part of guide, support, and protector? Our rôles would be reversed, as you say. Still, what daughter would not be proud and happy to do for her father what I would do for you? Ah, well, why should not a wife manifest the same devotion toward her husbandthat a daughter manifests toward her father? I am sure you will not be able to refute that argument, my dear father."
"But your comparison, though extremely touching, is by no means just. In consequence of some misfortune, or some deplorable accident, a girl might find herself obliged to become the support and protector of her father. In such a case, it is very grand and noble in her to devote her life and energies to him; but she has not deliberately chosen her father, so she is performing a sacred duty, while the woman who is free to choose would, I repeat,—don't glare at me so,—be a fool, yes, an idiot, to select for a husband—"
"An unfortunate man who needs to be surrounded with the tenderest solicitude," cried Sabine, interrupting her father. "So you really believe that a woman would be committing an act of folly if she made such a choice. Say that again, father, if you want me to believe it,—you, who have so generously devoted your life to your child, who have been so lenient to her many weaknesses, who have made every sacrifice for her,—tell me that it would be arrant folly to devote one's life to an unfortunate creature to whom Fate has been most unkind; tell me that it would be arrant folly to cling to him because an infirmity kept everybody else aloof from him; tell me this, father, and I will believe you."
"No, my generous, noble-hearted child, I do not say that. I should be lying if I did," exclaimed Cloarek, quite carried away by Sabine's generous enthusiasm; "no, I cannot doubt the divine happiness that one finds in devoting oneself to a person one loves; no, I cannot doubt the attraction that courage and resignation under suffering exert over all superior natures."
"So you see that my dream is not as extraordinary as you thought, after all," replied the girl, smiling.
"You are a doughty antagonist, and I will admit thatI am beaten, or rather convinced, if you can answer one more objection as successfully."
"And what is that?"
"When a man loves, he loves body and soul; you must admit that. The contemplation of the charming face of a beloved wife is as sweet to a man as the realisation of her merits and virtues. Now, in a long conversation that I had last evening with M. Onésime, at your recommendation, remember, I asked him if he could see a person a few feet off, distinctly. He replied that he could not, and remarked in this connection that he had seen you plainly but once, and that was yesterday when you were assisting Suzanne in binding up his hand. The most inconceivable thing in your dream-marriage, after all, is a husband who spends his life near his wife without ever seeing her except by accident, as it were."
"Ah, well, father, I, for my part, think such a state of affairs is not without its advantages, after all."
"Really, that is going a little too far, I think."
"I will prove it to you if you wish."
"I defy you to do it."
"But, father, I have read somewhere that nothing could be more sacrilegious than to leave always exposed to view the portraits of one's loved ones; for the eye finally becomes so accustomed to these lineaments that the effect is perceptibly impaired."
"There may be some truth in this remark, but I do not perceive any special advantage to be derived from it so far as you are concerned."
"But if, on the contrary, these portraits are in a case that is opened only when one desires to contemplate the beloved features, the impression produced upon you is powerful in proportion to the rarity of the treat."
"Your reasoning is fairly good, to say the least; but how about the other party, the person that can see? She will be obliged to close her eyes, I suppose, and keepthem closed, to prevent her husband's features from losing their charm."
"Are you really in earnest in making this objection?"
"Certainly I am."
"Then I will merely say in reply that, though I put myself in M. Onésime's place for a moment, that is no reason why I should renounce my own excellent eye-sight, for I am not in the least afraid that I should ever tire of looking at my husband any more than I tire of looking at you, my dear father, and I know I could gaze at your face a hundred years without growing weary of reading on your noble features all your devoted tenderness for me," added Sabine, kissing her father fondly.
"My dear, dear child," murmured Cloarek, responding to his daughter's fervent caress, "how can I hope to contend successfully with your heart and reason. I must acknowledge myself beaten, I suppose, and confess that your dream is not so unreasonable, perhaps, after all, and that a woman might perhaps marry such a terribly near-sighted man if she really loved him. Nevertheless, in spite of your romantic way of regarding poor Onésime's infirmity, I should infinitely prefer—But, now I think of it—"
"Well, father?"
"During my travels I have heard a good deal about a young and wonderfully skilful surgeon,—a terrible gourmand, too, they say he is, by the way. It is his only fault, I understand. This young surgeon established himself in Paris a few years ago, and his fame has grown, until he is now considered one of the greatest celebrities of the scientific world. It is possible that he may be able to restore this poor fellow's sight."
"Do you really suppose there is any hope of that?" cried Sabine.
"I cannot say, my child, but I know several wonderful cures that Doctor Gasterini has effected, and I will write to him this very day. I am going out for a littlewhile, but I shall be back in an hour, and as I shall want to see you as soon as I return, you had better wait for me here."
On leaving Sabine, Cloarek went up to Onésime's room, and, desiring that their conversation should be of the most secret character and free from any possibility of interruption, he asked that young man to accompany him on a promenade he intended to take on the beach before dinner.
Soon after M. Cloarek left the house in company with Onésime, Segoffin might have been seen standing on the garden terrace with an old spy-glass levelled on an object that seemed to be absorbing his attention and exciting his surprise and curiosity to the highest pitch.
The object was a vessel that he had just discovered in the offing and that elicited the following comments as he watched its evolutions.
"It seems preposterous! Am I dreaming, or is that really our brig? It must be! That rigging, that mast, those lines, are certainly hers, and yet it cannot be. That is not her hull. With her barbette guns she sat as low in the water as a whaler. I don't see a single gun poking its nose out of this craft, though. No, no, it is not, of course it is not. This vessel is painted a dark gray, while theHell-houndwas black with scarlet stripes. And yet that big sail perched so rakishly over the stem, that rigging fine as a spider's web, there never was a vessel built except theHell-houndthat could carry such a stretch of canvas as that. But what an ass I am! She is putting about, so there's a sure way of satisfying myself of the identity I wish to verify, as M. Yvon used to say when he wore the robes of office and amused himself by throwing chief justices out of the window,—that is to read the name on her stern, as I shall be able to do in a minute or two, and—"
But Segoffin's soliloquy was here interrupted by afamiliar tap on the shoulder, and, turning quickly, he found himself face to face with Suzanne.
"That which is done can not be undone, but the devil take you, my dear, for disturbing me just at this time!" exclaimed M. Cloarek's head gunner, raising his glass to his eye again.
But unfortunately he was too late. The brig had completed the evolution, and the name on her stern was no longer visible, so the verification of her identity which Segoffin contemplated had become impossible.
"So the devil may have me and welcome, may he?" responded Suzanne, tartly. "You are very polite, I must say."
"Frankness is a duty between old friends like ourselves," said Segoffin, casting a regretful glance seaward. "I came here to amuse myself by watching the passing ships, and you had to come and interrupt me."
"You are right; frankness is a duty between us, Segoffin, so I may as well tell you, here and now, that no stone-deaf person was ever harder to wake than you."
"How do you know? Unfortunately for me and for you, Suzanne, you have never had a chance to see how I sleep," responded the head gunner, with a roguish smile.
"You are very much mistaken, for I rapped at your door last night."
"Ah!" exclaimed Segoffin, winking his only remaining eye with a triumphant air, "I have often told you that you would come to it sooner or later, and you have."
"Come to what?" inquired the housekeeper, without the slightest suspicion of her companion's real meaning.
"To stealing alone and on tiptoe to my room to—"
"You are an abominably impertinent creature, M. Segoffin. I rapped at your door to ask your aid and protection."
"Against whom?"
"But you are such a coward that you just lay therepretending to be asleep and taking good care not to answer me."
"Tell me seriously, Suzanne,—what occurred last night? Did you really think you needed me?"
"Hear that, will you! They might have set fire to the house and murdered us, it wouldn't have made the slightest difference to you. M. Segoffin was snug in bed and there he remained."
"Set fire to the house and murdered you! What on earth do you mean?"
"I mean that two men tried to break into this house last night."
"They were two of your lovers, doubtless."
"Segoffin!"
"You had probably made a mistake in the date—"
But the head gunner never finished the unseemly jest. His usually impassive features suddenly assumed an expression of profound astonishment, succeeded by one of fear and anxiety. The change, in fact, was so sudden and so striking that Dame Roberts, forgetting her companion's impertinent remarks, exclaimed:
"Good Heavens, Segoffin, what is the matter with you? What are you looking at in that way?"
And following the direction of Segoffin's gaze, she saw a stranger, preceded by Thérèse, advancing toward them. The newcomer was a short, stout man with a very prominent abdomen. He wore a handsome blue coat, brown cassimere knee-breeches, high top-boots, and a long white waistcoat, across which dangled a double watch-chain lavishly decorated with a number of charms. In one hand he held a light cane with which he gaily switched the dust from his boots, and in the other he held his hat, which he had gallantly removed at the first sight of Dame Roberts. This newcomer was Floridor Verduron, the owner of the brigHell-hound, usually commanded by Captain l'Endurci.
Up to this time Cloarek had concealed from Verduronhis real name as well as the motives which had led him to take up privateering. He had also taken special pains to keep his place of abode a secret from the owner of the privateer, a mutual friend having always served as an intermediary between the captain and the owner. Consequently, the dismay of the head gunner can be readily imagined when he reflected that, as the captain's real name and address had been discovered by M. Verduron, and that gentleman was wholly ignorant of the double part M. Cloarek was playing, his very first words were likely to unwittingly reveal a secret of the gravest importance. M. Verduron's presence also explained, at least in part, the arrival of the brig Segoffin had seen a short time before, and which he fancied he recognised under the sort of disguise he could not yet understand.
Meanwhile, M. Floridor Verduron was coming nearer and nearer. Suzanne noted this fact, and remarked:
"Who can this gentleman be? What a red face he has! I never saw him before. Why don't you answer me, Segoffin? Good Heavens, how strangely you look! And you are pale, very much paler than usual."
"It is the redness of this man's face that makes me look pale by contrast, I suppose," replied Segoffin, seeing himself confronted by a danger he was powerless to avert.
The servant, who was a few steps in advance of the visitor, now said to Suzanne:
"Dame Roberts, here is a gentleman who wishes to see the master on very important business, he says."
"You know very well that monsieur has gone out."
"That is what I told the gentleman, but he said he would wait for his return, as he must see monsieur."
As Thérèse finished her explanation of the intrusion, M. Verduron, who prided himself upon his good manners, and who had won fame in his earlier days as a skilful dancer of the minuet, paused about five yards from Dame Roberts and made her a very low bow, with hiselbows gracefully rounded, his heels touching each other, and his feet forming the letter V.
Dame Roberts, flattered by the homage rendered to her sex, responded with a ceremonious curtsey, sayingsotto voceto Segoffin the while, with a sarcastically reproachful air:
"Notice how a polite gentleman ought to accost a lady."
M. Floridor Verduron, advancing a couple of steps, made another profound bow, to which Suzanne responded with equal deference, murmuring to Segoffin as if to pique him or arouse his emulation:
"These are certainly the manners of a grandee,—of an ambassador, in fact."
The head gunner, instead of replying, however, tried to get as much out of sight as possible behind an ever-green. M. Verduron's third and last salute (he considered three bows obligatory) was too much like the others to deserve any especial mention, and he was about to address Suzanne when he caught sight of the head gunner.
"What! you here?" he exclaimed, with a friendly nod. "I didn't see you, you old sea-wolf. And how is your eye getting along?"
"I have no use of it, as you see, M. Verduron, but don't let's talk about that, I beg of you. I have my reasons."
"I should think so, my poor fellow, for it would be rather making light of misfortune, wouldn't it, madame?" asked the visitor, turning to Suzanne, who bowed her assent with great dignity, and then said:
"The servant tells me you wish to see M. Cloarek on pressing business, monsieur."
"Yes, my dear madame, very pressing," replied the ship owner, gallantly. "It is doubtless to monsieur's wife I have the honour of speaking, and in that case, I—"
"Pardon me, monsieur, I am only the housekeeper."
"What! the cap—"
But the first syllable of the word captain had not left the ship owner's lips before the head gunner shouted at the top of his voice, at the same time seizing Suzanne suddenly by the arm:
"In Heaven's name, look! See there!"
The housekeeper was so startled that she uttered a shrill cry and did not even hear the dread syllable the visitor had uttered, but when she had partially recovered from her alarm, she exclaimed, sharply:
"Really, this is intolerable, Segoffin. You gave me such a scare I am all of a tremble now."
"But look over there," insisted the head gunner, pointing toward the cliffs; "upon my word of honour, one can hardly believe one's eyes."
"What is it? What do you see?" asked the ship owner, gazing intently in the direction indicated.
"It seems impossible, I admit. I wouldn't have believed it myself if anybody had told me."
"What is it? What are you talking about?" demanded Suzanne, her curiosity now aroused, in spite of her ill-humour.
"It is unaccountable," mused the head gunner, to all appearance lost in a sort of admiring wonder. "It is enough to make one wonder whether one is awake or only dreaming."
"But what is it you see?" cried the ship owner, no less impatiently than the housekeeper. "What are you talking about? Where must we look?"
"You see that cliff there to the left, don't you?"
"To the left?" asked the ship owner, ingenuously, "to the left of what?"
"To the left of the other, of course."
"What other?" demanded Suzanne, in her turn.
"What other? Why, don't you see that big white cliff that looks like a dome?"
"Yes," answered the ship owner.
"Well, what of it?" snapped Suzanne.
"Look, high up."
"High up, Segoffin?"
"Yes, on the side."
"On the side?"
"Yes, don't you see that bluish light playing on it?"
"Bluish light?" repeated the ship owner, squinting up his eyes and arching his hand over them to form a sort of shade.
"Yes, high up, near the top! The deuce take me if it isn't turning red now! Look, will you! Isn't it amazing? But come, M. Verduron, come, let's get a closer look at it," added Segoffin, seizing the ship owner by the arm and trying to drag him away.
"One moment," exclaimed M. Verduron, releasing himself from the head gunner's grasp, "to take a closer look at anything one must first have seen it at a distance, and the devil take me if I can see anything at all. And you, madame?"
"I don't, I am sure, monsieur."
Segoffin would perhaps have attempted to prolong the illusion by endowing the light with all the other colours of the rainbow, but the approach of another and even greater danger extinguished his inventive genius.
He heard Sabine's voice only a few feet from him, exclaiming:
"What are you all looking at, my dear Suzanne?"
"Mlle. Sabine!" Segoffin mentally exclaimed. "All is lost! Poor child! Such a revelation will kill her, I fear."
On seeing Sabine, M. Floridor Verduron began his reverential evolutions all over again, and the girl returned his bows blushingly, for she had not expected to meet a stranger in the garden.
Segoffin, terrified at the thought that Cloarek's secret might be revealed at any moment, resolved to get the visitor away at any cost; so, interrupting him in the midst of his genuflections, he said:
"And now, M. Verduron, if you will come with me I will take you to monsieur at once."
"But my father has gone out, Segoffin," said Sabine.
"Never mind, mademoiselle, I know where to find him."
"But it would be much better for monsieur to wait for my father here, I think," insisted the girl. "He said he would soon be back, and if you go out in search of him you run a great risk of missing him, Segoffin, and of giving this gentleman a long walk for nothing, perhaps."
"No, no, mademoiselle, it is such a delightful day monsieur will enjoy a little walk, and I know a very pleasant road your father is sure to return by."
"But he might not return that way, Segoffin," interposed Suzanne, favourably disposed toward the visitor, by reason of his extreme politeness, and consequently anxious to enjoy his society as long as possible.
"But I tell you that—"
"My good friend," interrupted M. Verduron, "I must admit that I am too gallant, or rather not sufficiently unselfish, to debar myself of the pleasure of waiting here for the return of—"
"Very well, very well," interposed Segoffin, quickly, "we won't say any more about it. I thought mine would be the better plan; but it doesn't matter in the least, in fact, now I think of it, there is something particular that I want to speak to you about. I only ask two minutes of your time—"
"Two minutes, fair ladies!" exclaimed the visitor, laughing, "as if two minutes spent out of such delightful society was not two centuries of time."
"Ah, monsieur, you are really too kind," exclaimed Suzanne, bridling coquettishly in her delight at this new compliment.
"You will have to make up your mind to it, Segoffin," said Sabine, who was beginning to find M. Verduron very amusing.
"But I really must speak to you in private, monsieur, and at once," exclaimed the head gunner, greatly alarmed now.
"Come, come, my worthy friend, don't speak in such thunder tones, you will frighten these fair ladies," said M. Verduron, too anxious to exercise his fascinations upon the ladies to comply with Segoffin's request. "I will promise you a private audience after they have deprived us of the light of their presence, but not until then."
"But at least listen to what I have to say," insisted poor Segoffin, desperate now, and trying to get near enough to the visitor to whisper a few words in his ear.
But that gentleman hastily drew back with a loud laugh.
"No whispering in the presence of ladies, man! What do you take me for, a savage, a cannibal? This indiscreetfriend of mine seems to be resolved to ruin me in your estimation, my dear ladies."
"Oh, you have no idea how obstinate M. Segoffin is," remarked Suzanne. "When he once gets anything into his head there is no moving him."
The head gunner made no reply. Foiled in his efforts to get the visitor away, he now came a little closer to the trio, with the expression of a person who is prepared for the worst.
"So it is to Mlle. Cloarek that I have the honour of speaking," said the ship owner, gallantly, turning to Sabine.
"Yes, monsieur, and you, I understand, are one of my father's friends."
"He has no more devoted friend and admirer, I assure you, mademoiselle. I should be very ungrateful if I were not; I am under such great obligations to him."
"My father has been fortunate enough to render you some service, then, monsieur."
"Some service, mademoiselle? He has made my fortune for me."
"Your fortune, and how?" asked Sabine, much surprised.
"Why, mademoiselle," interrupted Segoffin, hastily, "it is in this gentleman's interest that your father has made so many—so many trips."
"That is true, mademoiselle," replied the ship owner, "and every one, almost without exception, has yielded rich returns."
"Yes, he is a great manufacturer," whispered Segoffin, edging in between Sabine and Suzanne. "We sell lots of goods for him during our trips."
"Then you are at least partially accountable for the anxiety which my father's frequent absences cause me, monsieur," remarked Sabine.
"And you have no idea how unreasonable mademoiselle is, monsieur," chimed in Suzanne. "She frets justas much as if her father were really in some danger—"
"Some danger! Ah, my dear lady, you may well say—"
"Yes, it is astonishing how people deceive themselves," interrupted Segoffin, with great volubility. "Everybody thinks that everybody else has an easy time of it, and because a person makes a good deal of money, other people think he has only to stop and rake it up."
"Appearances are, indeed, very deceitful, my dear young lady," remarked the ship owner, "and though your father makes so light of the danger he incurs, I assure you that in the last fight—"
"Fight?" exclaimed the young girl, in astonishment; "fight?"
"What fight are you speaking of, monsieur?" asked Suzanne, in her turn, no less amazed.
"Why, a desperate fight, a fight to the death," whispered Segoffin, "with a merchant who didn't find our goods to his taste, but M. Cloarek and I finally succeeded so well in bringing him around to our way of thinking that he ended by taking a hundred pieces from us—"
"What on earth is the fellow talking about, my dear ladies?" cried M. Verduron, who had tried several times to interrupt Segoffin, but in vain. "Has my worthy friend gone stark, staring mad?"
"Mad!" exclaimed Segoffin, in a voice of thunder. Then advancing toward M. Verduron, he said, in threatening tones:
"You call me a madman, do you, you old rascal!"
For the fact is the head gunner, finding himself at the end of his resources, and despairing of averting the evil moment much longer, had resolved upon heroic measures; so, taking advantage of the amazement of the ship owner, who was very naturally stupefied by this sudden change of manner, Segoffin continued, in still more violent tones:
"Yes, you are an insolent old rascal, and if you try any more of your impudence on me, I'll shake you out of your boots."
"Segoffin, what are you saying, in Heaven's name?" cried Sabine, all of a tremble.
"What! you have the audacity to speak to me in this way, and in the presence of ladies, too!" exclaimed the ship owner.
"Take mademoiselle away from here at once," Segoffin said to Suzanne,sotto voce. "We are going to have a row, and it will be sure to throw her into a spasm. Get her away, get her away at once, I say."
Then, rushing upon the ship owner, and seizing him by the collar, he shouted:
"I've a great mind to hurl you down the cliff through that gap in the wall, you old bergamot-scented fop."
"Why, this poor man has gone stark, staring mad. Did any one ever see the like of it? What has happened to him?" stammered the amazed visitor.
"In God's name, take mademoiselle away!" thundered Segoffin, again turning to the housekeeper.
That lady, seeing Sabine turn pale and tremble like a leaf, had not waited to hear this injunction repeated before trying to lead Sabine to the house, but the young girl, in spite of her terror and the housekeeper's entreaties, could not be induced to leave the spot, deeming it cowardly to desert her father's friend under such circumstances; so, releasing herself from Suzanne's grasp, she approached the two men and cried, indignantly:
"Segoffin, your conduct is outrageous. In my father's name I command you to stop such scandalous behaviour at once."
"Help, help, he is strangling me!" murmured M. Verduron, feebly. "Ah, when the captain—"
The word captain sealed the ship owner's fate. In the twinkling of an eye Segoffin had seized M. Verduron around the waist, and had sprung with him over the lowparapet on to the grassy slope below, where, still locked in each other's arms, they rolled unharmed to the bottom of the cliff, while Sabine, unable to control the terror which this last incident had excited, swooned in Suzanne's arms.
"Help, Thérèse, help! Mademoiselle has fainted; help!" cried the housekeeper. The servant came running in answer to the summons, and with her assistance Sabine was carried to the house.
This call was heard by Segoffin, who at once said to himself: "There is no farther cause for fear; our secret is safe!"
So he released his hold upon M. Floridor Verduron, who staggered to his feet, panting and dishevelled, and so angry that he was unable to utter a word, though his eyes spoke volumes. Segoffin, profiting by this silence, said to the ship owner, with the most good-humoured air imaginable, quite as if they were continuing a friendly conversation, in fact:
"Now, my dear M. Verduron, I will explain why I was obliged to force you to follow me to this rather lonely retreat."
"Wretch, how dare you insult me in this fashion?" yelled the ship owner, exasperated beyond endurance by the head gunner's coolness.
"It was all your fault, M. Verduron."
"My fault? How outrageous!"
"I asked you to give me a moment's conversation in private, but you wouldn't do it, so I was obliged to resort to this little manœuvre to secure it."
"Very well, very well, we will see what the captain says about all this. To place me in such a position, and in the presence of ladies!"
"I really ask your pardon for the liberty I took, M. Verduron," said Segoffin, seriously enough this time, "but upon my honour I was absolutely compelled to do it."
"What! you dare—"
"Listen to me. For several very important reasons M. Cloarek has carefully concealed from his daughter the fact that he has been engaged in privateering."
"Is that really so?" exclaimed the ship owner, his wrath giving place to profound astonishment. "Possibly that is the reason he took such pains to conceal his real name and address from me, then."
"Yes, and in order to explain his frequent absences he has given his daughter to understand that he sells dry goods on a commission, so you can understand my embarrassment when I saw you drop down upon us from the clouds."
"But why didn't you ask me to keep the secret?"
"That was what I wanted to speak to you in private about. After you refused, it was like treading on live coals to continue the conversation, and when I saw you were certain to let the cat out of the bag there was nothing for me to do but tumble you down the cliff to get you away from Mlle. Sabine and the housekeeper. It was pretty rough treatment, I admit, but I could see no other way out of the difficulty."
"I forgive you, Segoffin," said M. Verduron, magnanimously. "I must even admit that it was very clever of you to—"
"Where are they? Where are they?" shouted M. Cloarek's voice high above their heads.
"They both fell over the cliff, monsieur," replied the voice of Thérèse.
Almost immediately Yvon's head appeared above the parapet.
On seeing the ship owner, he stood a moment as if stupefied, then remembering that M. Verduron's presence imperilled the secret he was so anxious to guard, he exclaimed:
"Damnation! You here, monsieur! How dare you—"
But with three bounds Segoffin had reached the brow of the cliff.
"Don't be alarmed; Mlle. Sabine and Suzanne know nothing," he cried.
"Thank God! I can breathe again!" murmured Cloarek, relieved of a terrible apprehension.
Cloarek, reassured in regard to the probable consequences of the ship owner's visit, was anxious to ascertain the object of his coming, but it was first necessary to devise some way of helping him up the cliff, so Segoffin went in search of a rope. They threw one end of it to M. Verduron, and he soon made the ascent, thanks to its aid.
"Come in the house," said Cloarek, without making any attempt to conceal his annoyance. "I want to know why you ventured to come and search me out when I had taken such pains to conceal my identity."
"Well, to make a long story short, I came to hold a council of war with you."
"A council of war? Are you mad?"
"By no means, my brave captain, as you will profit by it to the extent of at least four or five hundred thousand francs."
"In other words, you want me to put to sea again, I suppose. But one question, here and now: What right had you to make a confidential letter that I wrote to you—what right, I say, had you to make such a letter public?"
"I thought it would give such pleasure to the many readers of theJournal, all of whom are hungering for news of the bravest and most renowned of privateers."
"You are very complimentary, I am sure, but this indiscretion on your part has annoyed me greatly."
"In that case your modesty will certainly suffer very much from the article in to-day's paper."
"What article? Let me tell you once for all—"
"Don't be alarmed, my dear captain. It merely described how the brave Captain l'Endurci conducted an attack, how like a tiger he fought, etc. It said nothing in relation to his private life."
"This is unbearable," said Cloarek, impatiently, though he was in reality greatly relieved.
"I was certainly actuated by no evil motive, in any event; besides, as Segoffin says, there is no undoing that which is done, or words to that effect."
"It is useless to discuss the matter further. You came here to ask me to put to sea again. I shall do nothing of the kind. That is the end of it."
"But it is not the end of it by any means, my dear captain. Just give me your attention for a moment. A three-master belonging to the East India Company, with two million francs in bullion, will soon be along. Two million francs, do you hear?"
"If she had ten millions aboard it would make no difference to me. I shall not put to sea again. I have said it, and I mean it."
"It is true that you have said so, my dear captain, but you will change your mind—for many reasons."
"I never go back on my word, monsieur."
"No more do I; but often, and in spite of ourselves, circumstances force—"
"Once again I tell you that I said no, and no it is."
"You said no, I admit! You will say yes, too, my dear captain," responded the ship owner, with an air of profound conviction.
"Enough, M. Verduron, enough!" cried Cloarek, stamping his foot, angrily.
"Don't irritate M. Yvon," Segoffin remarked to the ship owner,sotto voce. "I know him. You'll only bring down a terrific storm upon your head."
"All I ask, my dear captain," persisted M. Verduron, "is that you will give me your attention for five minutes, that is all."
"Go on, then."
"You will see by this clipping from an English newspaper,—and the sources of information seem to be perfectly trustworthy, by the way,—you will see that the British cruiserVanguardwhich is convoying the richly laden vessel is commanded by Captain Blake."
"Captain Blake?"
"The same," replied the ship owner. "He is, as you know, one of the most daring officers in the British navy, and, unfortunately for us, he has always come off victorious in his encounters with our vessels."
"Oh, if I could only have been lucky enough to get a shot at him!" muttered Segoffin.
"You will, never fear, you old sea-wolf. As for you, my dear captain, your silence means consent, I am sure. Think of the honour, as well as the profit, to be derived from the operation: four or five hundred thousand francs and theVanguardin tow of theHell-hound, all in forty-eight hours."
Segoffin, who had been accustomed for years to make a profound study of his employer's physiognomy, and who had been carefully noting the effect of these proposals, said in a low tone to the ship owner, shaking his head the while:
"The bait is tempting, but he isn't going to swallow it this time."
His prognostications proved correct; the flush of anger gradually faded from Cloarek's face; his contracted features relaxed, and it was calmly, half-smilingly, that he at last said to M. Verduron:
"You are a clever tempter, but I have a talisman against you. It is the promise I have made to my daughter not to leave her again. You have seen her, and you must feel that I shall keep my word."
"Mlle. Cloarek is a charming girl. There is not the slightest doubt of that, my dear captain, but you would be very foolish to miss such a fine opportunity as this."
"It is impossible, I tell you."
"Help me persuade him, Segoffin, and then you will get your wished-for shot at Captain Blake, I promise you."
"Segoffin knows that I never break my word, M. Verduron. I said no, and no it is."
"Sacre bleu!it is amazing how atrociously selfish some people are!" exclaimed the ship owner, highly incensed by Cloarek's refusal.
"You must be jesting, M. Verduron," responded Cloarek, who could not help smiling at this outbreak. "It is all very easy for you to talk about stirring conflicts. I, for my part, should like to know which is the most selfish, you who remain safe and comfortable in your office at Dieppe, or the sailor who mans your ship, and exposes himself to all the perils of deadly combats."
"You talk as if I had to run no risk whatever," exclaimed Verduron. "You forget to say anything about the bullets I receive."
"Well, upon my word! I never knew before that you, too, were in the habit of exposing yourself to a shower of bullets!" cried Segoffin.
"Isn't my vessel under fire if I am not? And how about all the repairs, and all the damages your humble servant has to pay for? And the wounds, and the legs and arms, you have forgotten what they cost me, I suppose. Didn't I have to pay for five legs and three arms lost in that last fight of yours? Reckon them up at the rate of fifty crowns a limb, and see what they come to."
"But you must remember that you don't have to pay a sou when a man loses his head," retorted Segoffin.
"This is no subject for jesting, I want you to understand," snapped the ship owner, who was evidentlybecoming more and more excited, "for am I not doing everything on earth to secure you the best of crews? For don't you think, yourself, captain, that the prospect of a small pension in case of serious injuries encourages our sailors and makes regular devils of them under fire? And yet when I am bleeding myself in this fashion, I am repaid by the blackest ingratitude."
"What you say is absurd," replied Cloarek, shrugging his shoulders. "I have quadrupled your fortune."
"And because Captain l'Endurci has made all the money he wants, he doesn't care in the least whether other persons have or not," persisted the ship owner.
"There is not the slightest need of your working yourself into such a passion, Verduron," replied Cloarek. "There are plenty of brave sea-captains in Dieppe, thank Heaven! quite as capable of commanding theHell-houndand contending successfully with Captain Blake as I am."
"Then you refuse, captain?"
"For the tenth time, yes."
"Positively?"
"Positively."
"Very well, then, captain," responded the ship owner, resolutely. "What I have been unable to obtain by persuasion and entreaties, I shall obtain in some other way."
"What does he mean?" asked Cloarek, turning to Segoffin.
"I mean that it is not easy to resign oneself to the loss of at least half a million, captain," responded Verduron, threateningly; "so, though I had no idea that you would persist in your refusal, I was prudent enough to take my precautions."
"Your precautions?"
"TheHell-houndis now in Havre, where she arrived this morning."
"Then it was theHell-houndI saw!" cried Segoffin. "I thought I couldn't be mistaken."
"The brig is at Havre?" exclaimed Cloarek.
"Yes, M. Yvon, but disguised beyond any possibility of recognition. She has been painted gray with a broad yellow band, and not a sign of a gun is visible."
"And now will you be kind enough to tell me what all this signifies?" demanded Cloarek.
"It means that I have changed the appearance of the brig as much as possible, because all the British cruisers are on the lookout for her, and now, thanks to this disguise, you will be able to reach Jersey with little or no trouble."
"You are persistent, I must say," said Cloarek, restraining himself only by a powerful effort.
"Yes, captain, and what is more, I've got you, and I mean to keep you. The crew are wild with enthusiasm; the prospect of another voyage under you has made them frantic with delight. They expect to see you this evening, and I warn you that if you are not in Havre within an hour, they will be here in two hours."
"What! You will dare—" began Cloarek, in a voice choked with anger.
"I? Why, I have nothing to do with it, captain. It is your sailors that you will have to deal with, and you have had a chance to find out whether they are milk-sops or not. If you persist in your refusal, you will see one hundred and fifty of those dare-devils here with drums and fifes, and resolved to have their brave captain, whether or no. I am afraid those drums and fifes will destroy yourincognitoeffectually this time."
"Wretch!" roared Cloarek, realising how entirely feasible the ship owner's plan was, and he would have precipitated himself upon his tormentor if Segoffin had not suddenly interposed his own body between the two men and said to Cloarek:
"Remember that there are white hairs under his musk-scented powder, M. Yvon."
"Oh, knock me down! Kill me, if you like! that willnot prevent the crew from coming for you, nor you from going with them," snarled the ship owner.
"Don't talk so loud, gentlemen, I beg of you. I hear somebody coming now."
In another instant Suzanne appeared, pale and terrified.
"Oh, monsieur,—come,—come quick!" she cried.
"What is the matter?"
"Mademoiselle—"
"Is my daughter worse?"
"Oh, monsieur, I am so frightened,—come, come!"
Cloarek, forgetting everything else in his alarm, rushed off, leaving Segoffin and the ship owner alone together.
"M. Verduron, I tell you very plainly, you have had a narrow escape," said the head gunner. "I have only one piece of advice to give you. Get away from here as soon as possible."
"You may be right," replied the visitor, hastily picking up his hat and cane.
"I am right."
"Well, listen to me. You know I mean well, and I must admit now that I am sorry I tried to carry things with such a high hand, for I had no idea that the captain had a daughter, or that he was so anxious to conceal the fact that he was a privateer; but no power on earth now, not even that of the captain himself, can prevent those devilish sailors from coming here in search of him if he does not go to them, so you had better tell him, in any case, that the ship's officers and a part of the crew are waiting for him at the tavern known as The Golden Anchor on the quay."
The ship owner hastened off and Segoffin darted into the house to inquire if there was any improvement in Sabine's condition.
Segoffin had been pacing the hall out of which Sabine's sitting-room opened for about half an hour with ever-increasing anxiety before Suzanne came out.
"Well, how is mademoiselle?" he asked, anxiously. "Tell me, Suzanne, how is she?"
"A nice question to ask, truly, when your brutality toward that estimable gentleman this morning threw mademoiselle into a frightful nervous spasm."
"I admit that I did very wrong, but she had got over that. M. Yvon told me so when he came out into the garden. What happened afterward to upset her so again?"
"Alas! the one great sorrow of her life has been recalled to her remembrance more vividly than ever!"
"You refer to her poor mother's death, of course."
"Yes, and she has just been talking to M. Yvon about it. You can judge how painful the conversation must have been to him."
"What do you mean?" cried Segoffin, in alarm. "Is it possible that Mlle. Sabine knows that terrible secret?"
"No, thank Heaven! she does not, and I sincerely hope she never will."
"I do not understand you then, Suzanne."
"This is what caused all the trouble," said the housekeeper, drawing a paper from her pocket.
"What is that?"
"The morning paper. It contains further details inrelation to that famous privateer, Captain l'Endurci. Listen to what it says, and you will then understand the situation."
And opening the paper, Suzanne read the following extract from an article headed, "Further Particulars in Relation to the Famous Corsair, Captain l'Endurci:"
"'The captain's personal appearance is well calculated to increase his prestige, and each and every one of his men would willingly follow him to the death.
"'This intrepid corsair is about forty years of age. Though only of medium height, he is remarkably agile and robust; his physiognomy is both virile and expressive; his eagle eye, the imperious carriage of his head, and his resolute bearing all show him to be a man born to command. His real name and origin is shrouded in mystery, but many persons are of the opinion that he is a native of Brittany, basing the supposition upon the costume he always wears on shipboard. Others think the captain came from some southern province, and that he adopted the Breton costume merely from motives of convenience.
"'However that may be, we are sure our readers will peruse with interest a description of the costume this famous corsair always wears on shipboard; in fact, it is even said that he attaches a superstitious importance to the wearing of this garb, which consists of a long black jacket and waistcoat trimmed with small silver buttons, a broad orange sash into which his weapons are thrust, wide white linen trousers similar to themorphsworn by the fishermen of Holland and the pilots of the island of Batz, high leggings, and a low, broad-brimmed felt hat.'"
After having read this extract the housekeeper remarked: "You see, Segoffin, that this corsair wears a costume which is identical in every respect with that worn by M. Cloarek on the night of madame's deplorable death."
"Yes; it makes me shudder to think of it," exclaimedSegoffin, interrupting her, "and on reading it, I suppose Mlle. Cloarek fancied she saw in this corsair the mysterious personage who was the cause of her mother's death."
"Alas! yes, Segoffin, and she said to monsieur, in a sort of frenzy: 'Father, my mother's murderer still lives. Will you not avenge her?' You can imagine M. Cloarek's feelings. To undeceive his daughter he would have to accuse himself."
"Mademoiselle must have read the papers after M. Yvon's return, then, I suppose."
"Yes, monsieur came in about eleven o'clock. He looked radiant; my nephew, who was with him, also seemed to be in the best of spirits. 'Is my daughter in her room?' asked monsieur, gaily. 'I have some good news for her.' Though I am no talebearer, there was nothing for me to do but tell him about the altercation you and the worthy merchant had had in the garden, and how much it had terrified mademoiselle."
"Of course, but go on."
"Monsieur ran up to his daughter's room and found that she had almost entirely recovered from her attack. Soon afterward, Thérèse brought up the paper as usual, and I, unfortunately, thinking it would divert mademoiselle, gave it to her to read. When she came to the passage in which the privateer's peculiar costume was described, she uttered a terrible cry—But hush! here comes monsieur," exclaimed Suzanne, hastily.
Cloarek, with an expression of the gloomiest despair imprinted on his features, and as pale as death, had just come out of his daughter's room.
"Go to her, Suzanne, she is asking for you," he said, hoarsely. "Come with me, Segoffin."
Segoffin silently followed his employer into his bedroom, where Cloarek, throwing himself into an armchair, buried his face in his hands and groaned aloud.
On beholding this poignant grief, Segoffin felt his owneyes grow moist as he stood silent and motionless beside his master.
"I can not understand how the recollection of that terrible night impressed itself so deeply on that unfortunate child's memory," exclaimed Cloarek, at last. "I shudder still as I think with what an expression of horror she exclaimed, 'Father, father, my mother's murderer still lives.' And as I gazed at her in a sort of stupor without replying, she added, with all the energy of intense hatred, 'Father, I tell you that the man who killed my mother, the man who killed your wife, still lives. Her murder cries for vengeance, and this man still lives.' And for the first time I saw an expression of hatred on my daughter's gentle face, and I was the object of that hatred. This terrible scene has reopened the wound again and revived my remorse, and yet you know how much I have suffered, and how bitterly I have expiated that momentary madness."
"But the worst thing, after all, is this scheme of Verduron's, M. Yvon," responded Segoffin, after a moment's silence.
"Yes, it is enough to drive one mad, for if I remain with my daughter the crew is sure to come here."
"That is absolutely certain. You know our men."
"Yes, and Sabine will then learn that her father, Captain l'Endurci, and her mother's murderer are all one and the same person, and this child, upon whom I have concentrated all my affection for years,—this child who is my only hope and joy and consolation in life,—will feel for me henceforth only aversion and loathing."
Then, after a few moments of gloomy reflection, he murmured, his eyes wild, his lips contracted in a sardonic smile:
"But nonsense! she is rich; she loves an honourable man, who loves her in return. She will still have Suzanne and Segoffin. Instead of loathing me, she shall mourn for me, and, so far as she is concerned, mydeath shall be enshrouded in the same mystery as my life."
As he spoke Cloarek stepped toward a table on which a pair of pistols were lying; but Segoffin, who had not once taken his eyes off his employer, sprang forward and, seizing the pistols before the captain could reach them, removed the charge and coolly replaced the weapons.
"Wretch!" exclaimed Cloarek, seizing Segoffin by the collar, and shaking him violently, "you shall pay dearly for your audacity."
"Time presses, M. Yvon, and you have more important business on hand than shaking poor old Segoffin. Your time is too precious for that!"
The head gunner's coolness restored Cloarek to himself, and sinking despondently into a chair, he said, gloomily:
"You are right, I am a fool. What shall I do? My brain seems to be on fire."
"Do you really want to know what I think you had better do?"
"Yes."
"I think you had better go to Havre immediately."
"Leave Sabine in this condition? Increase her alarm by a hasty departure and an incomprehensible absence after all my promises to her? Abandon her when she needs my care and affection more than ever before,—at the time she is about to marry, in short?"
"Mlle. Sabine?"
"Yes, the idea of this marriage was not at all pleasing to me at first, but now I feel confident that my daughter's future will prove a happy one; still, I ought to guide these children and surround them with the tenderest paternal solicitude, and it is at a time like this that I must put to sea again, and again risk my life now that it has become more necessary than ever to Sabine. I have recovered my senses now, and realise how mad I was to think of killing myself just now.Thanks to you, my tried and faithful friend, I have been saved from that crime."
"I wish I could save you from the visit of our ship's crew as well, M. Yvon. You must not forget that danger. If you do not go to them, they will surely come to you."
"Then I will go to them," exclaimed Cloarek, as if a way out of the difficulty had suddenly presented itself to his mind. "Yes, I will go to Havre at once, and tell my men that I have abandoned the sea, and that it will be useless for them to attempt to coerce me. You know how determined I am, and how little likelihood there is that I shall yield to overpersuasion. You shall accompany me. You have considerable influence over them, and you must exert it in my behalf. It is the only means of averting the danger that threatens me. It is now two o'clock, by three we shall be in Havre, and back home again by five. My daughter is lying down, and will not even suspect my absence. To avert suspicion, we will take a carriage at the inn."
Cloarek had already started toward the door, when the head gunner checked him by saying:
"You are making a great mistake in one respect, M. Yvon."
"What do you mean?"
"If you go to Havre you will not return here until after the cruise is ended."
"You are mad."
"No, I am not mad."
"You think my crew will carry me away by force, do you?"
"It is very probable. Besides, when you are with the sailors again, you will not have the strength to resist them."
"I will not?"
"No."
"Not after the reasons I have just stated to you? Ishall be back here by five o'clock, I tell you, and before my daughter has even discovered my absence. Your fears are absurd. Come, I say."
"You insist?"
"Yes, I do."
"That which is to be, will be," said Segoffin, shaking his head dubiously, but following his employer for all that.
After inquiring how Sabine was feeling, and learning that she had fallen asleep, Cloarek started for Havre in company with his head gunner.