THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
cannot be—Monsieur le Chevalier! Is it you?”
In his surprise he dropped the bottle from his hand, and the liquor ran a dark stream upon the deck; but, regardless, he made two strides to Mornay’s side, and, taking him by the shoulders, looked him eagerly in the face. “It is! It is! Holy Virgin, Monsieur le Capitaine, how came you here?”
Cornbury had never looked upon so ill-assorted a pair, but watched them stand, hand clasped in hand, each looking into the face of the other.
“A small world, Jacquard! How came you to leave Rochelle?”
“Oh, Monsieur,” said the other, wagging his head, “times are not what they have been. The sea has called me again. My flesh dried upon my bones. I could not stay longer ashore. And a profitable venture—a profitable venture—”
“Honest, Jacquard! Where do ye go?”
“Monsieur, the Saucy Sally is no proper ship for you.” He moved his head with a curious solemnity from side to side. “No place for you—we go a long voyage, monsieur,” and
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