He was silent, sullen. No one knew his name. I explained that he was
an old shipmate. This hardly satisfied the people. At Benevent they
love a mystery.
Marc solved it for them. He disappeared, without saying good-by. I
guessed that he had gone to sea again.
He had said, the night before he left us, "Pierre, I will not wreck her
life as she has wrecked mine. I will not seek her; but God save her if
she crosses my path in this life."
I was right; he had gone to sea. I got a letter a week after, with the
Marseilles postmark on it.
"I am mate of the _Lepante_," Marc said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Months had passed since their marriage--about a year. Cecile was a
mother. She called upon me in her carriage one day. A nurse was in
attendance upon her, carrying in her arms a little child. It was a
girl, two months old. Cecile was proud; but M. Andre chuckled
incessantly, as old cocks will. I, with my terrible secret, could
hardly bear to look at her.
"You are not friendly with me now, M. Crepin," she said; "not as you
used to be. I desire to keep all my old friends, and to make as many
new ones as I can."
I replied as well as I could; for I was thinking of Madame Debois, and
not of Madame Andre, as she was now called.
"I have come to ask a favour. Say you will grant it me?"
Like a Frenchman, I bowed complaisantly.
Cecile went on, like a Frenchwoman, flatteringly, "Pierre--for I will
call you by the old name; I like it best--I cannot be so stiff with an
old friend as to keep calling you Monsieur Crepin; but, if you will let
me, I will call you Captain Crepin."
Again I bowed, slightly mystified.
"Captain Crepin, you are--you are brave. All Benevent knows it. You
are an able and experienced seaman."
"Madame is too good."
"Not a bit," put in my mother, who would have heard me called angel with
pleasure.
"I love the sea. M. Andre does not; but he humours me in everything.
I have made him buy a fine yacht--large, strong, swift, of English
build. You have seen her. I have called her the _Zephire_. She lies
in the harbour there, and wants a captain and a crew. You must be the
captain, P-i-e-r-r-e!"
You know how women wheedle--handsome, especially?
"This summer," continued Cecile, "we intend to cruise north. I long to
see new countries. I am tired of life here. I long to skim over the
waves and feel the cool breezes of northern seas."
"Madame, I will consider. I must have time. You must give me time."
"You will not refuse me--nobody would. I shall feel safe only with you
in command of our yacht. What answer shall I give M. Andre, who is all
impatience to know?"
"I will answer myself to M. Andre to-morrow."
When she was gone, my good mother pressed me to go--though she would a
thousand times rather have kept me at home. But she knew that it is
necessary for a man to be doing something. Ah, she is a woman, indeed!
"This will be an easy berth, Pierre," she said. "You will be at home
with me here all the winters, with the _Zephire_ safely laid up in
dock."
The next day I called upon M. Andre at his office.
"I accept the command of your yacht, monsieur," I said. "I shall always
do my best for you, I hope."
The wages were liberal. I was to choose a crew of picked men--all old
sailors.
"We wish to sail in a week," said M. Andre. "Can you be ready by
then?"
"I can," was my answer.
It was not the wheedling of Cecile; it was not my mother's urging me; it
was not the beautiful yacht of M. Andre's, nor his good wages, that
made me decide to become captain of the _Zephire_.
It was because the _Lepante_ had gone north.
The _Zephire_ was as fine a craft as ever seaman handled. She was
perfect, from keel to mast, from bow to stern.
Those English know how to build ships.
I had under me a crew of six picked men. We had, besides, a cook, a
real _chef_, for M. Andre was something of a _gourmet_, and would have
the hand of an artist in his dishes, not the bungling of a scullion.
Monsieur and Madeline, with the little Cecile and their servants, came
on board on Sunday morning, as the people were going to mass; for we
would sail on a seaman's lucky day. We weighed anchor. There was wind
enough in the bay to fill our new white sails. All went without a
hitch: we were off!
We had two months of the finest weather. Cecile's cheeks wore new
colour, and her black eyes sparkled with delight, as we sped along ten
knots an hour. M. Andre was not dissatisfied. He saw Madame pleased.
That is something for an elderly husband. He dined well, and he slept
undisturbed under an awning on deck, or in his cabin. But this could
not last forever. We were three days from the last port we had touched
at, in a northerly latitude, and I could see we were going to have some
weather. The sunset was angry; black clouds rose; the wind freshened
into a stiff breeze. M. Andre called it an infernal gale.
The sea became rough for a landsman; and Monsieur not unnaturally felt
squeamish. Dinner was served under difficulties that evening, and
Monsieur could not taste even the soup.