THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
ears was bonneted in a tight-fitting woolen cap which made more prominent these eccentricities of nature. This astonishing figure would have seemed emaciated but for a certain deceptive largeness of bone and sinew. His nether half ended in a pair of long shanks attired in baggy trousers and boots, between which two bony knees, very much bowed, were visible. By his manner he might have been English, by his language French, by his ugliness anything from a pirate to an evil dream of the Devil.
Monsieur Mornay had reached the forecastle in a kind of stupefaction, and it was not until the ugly man returned from below with some dry clothing and a bottle of brandy that he came broadly awake. Then, wet and shivering, he threw aside his shirt and drank a generous tinful of grateful liquor, which sent a glow of warmth to the very marrow of his chilled bones. For the first time he glanced at his benefactor.
“Mille Dieux!” he cried, in joyful surprise. “Jacquard!” The tall man bent forward till his neck seemed to start from its fastenings.
“By the Devil’s Pot! why, what—wh—? It
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