THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
pistolet which Mistress Barbara still held tightly clutched in her extended hand. In her solicitude for monsieur she had forgotten herself and the weapon, which now, still unconsciously, she pointed directly at the portly person of Yan Gratz. He stammered and fell back a pace in amazement. The diversion was sufficient. For by this time Jacquard had struggled to his feet, and, throwing aside the fellows who were holding him, had rushed in and seized the pistol from the hand of the Dutchman before he could use it. At the same moment Bras-de-Fer, with a fierce cry, had sprung forward among the amazed mutineers and had taken Barbara under the cover of his weapon.
“Listen, mes camarades!” roared Jacquard above the confusion, waving the pistol in wide, commanding circles. “Listen, mes braves, and you will not regret. Listen, I say. It is I, Jacquard, who speaks. Wait but a moment and hear me. Listen. And when I am done you will say old Jacquard is wise.” His ungainly figure towered before them—the swinging arms like great wings, the hooked brows and curved beak
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