eyes were now more accustomed to it, distinguished the granite giant
by which the bark was sailing, and then turning an angle of the rock,
he saw the fire more brilliant than ever, and round it five or six persons
were seated. The blaze illumined the sea for a hundred paces round.
Gaetano skirted the light, carefully keeping the bark out of its rays;
then, when they were opposite the fire, he entered into the center of the
luminous circle, singing a fishing song, of which his companions sung
the chorus.
At the first words of the song, the men seated round the fire rose and approached the landing-place, their eyes fixed on the bark, of which they evidently sought to judge the force and divine the intention. They soon appeared satisfied, and returned (with the exception of one who remained at the shore) to their fire, at which a whole goat was roasting. When the bark was within twenty paces of the shore, the man on the beach made with his carbine the movement of a sentinel who sees a patrol, and cried, "Who goes there?" in Sardinian.
Franz coolly cocked both barrels. Gaetano then exchanged a few words with this man, which the traveler did not understand, but which evidently concerned him.
"Will your excellency give your name, or remain incognito?" asked the captain.
"My name must rest unknown," replied Franz; "merely say I am a Frenchman traveling for pleasure."
As soon as Gaetano had transmitted this answer, the sentinel gave an order to one of the men seated round the fire, who rose and disappeared among the rocks. Not a word was spoken, every one seemed occupied, Franz with his disembarkment, the sailors with their sails, the smugglers with their goat; but in the midst of all this carelessness it was evident that they mutually observed each other.
The man who had disappeared returned suddenly, on the opposite side to that by which he had left; he made a sign with his head to the sentinel, who, turning to the bark, uttered these words, "S'accomodi." The Italian s'accomodi is untranslatable; it means at once, "Come, enter, you are welcome; make yourself at home; you are the master." It is like that Turkish phrase of Moliere's that so astonished le bourgeois gentilhomme by the number of things it contained.
The sailors did not wait for a second invitation; four strokes of the oar brought them to the land; Gaetano sprang to shore, exchanged a few words in a low tone with the sentinel, then his comrades descended, and lastly came Franz's turn. One of his guns was slung over his shoulder, Gaetano had the other, and a sailor held his rifle; his dress, half artist, half dandy, did not excite any suspicion, and, consequently, no
