A young girl with light complexion, black eyes, white teeth, and a
bright and mischievous smile, appeared, and stopped a moment on the last
step of the stair of rocks which led to the house of the watchman.
She wore the graceful and picturesque costume of the girls of Provence:
a brown petticoat and red waist, with wide basques and tight sleeves.
Her little felt hat left visible the beautiful nape of her neck and long
tresses of black hair rolled under a scarlet silk net.
Orphan and foster-sister to Mlle. Reine des Anbiez, Stephanette served
her in the duties of a companion, and was treated more as a friend than
a servant.
Stephanette’s heart was good, true, and grateful, her conduct
irreproachable. Her only fault was a mischievous village coquetry, which
was the despair of the fishers and captains of small craft in the gulf
of La Ciotat, nor will we except from the number of these interesting
victims her betrothed, Captain Luquin Trinquetaille, captain of the
polacre, _Holy Terror to the Moors, by the Grace of God_,--a long
and significant appellation, inscribed at full length on the stern of
Captain Trinque-taille’s boat.
Gallantly armed with six swivel-guns, it was the business of the polacre
to escort vessels from La Ciotat which, forced by their commerce to
have free intercourse with the coasts of Italy, dreaded the attacks of
pirates.
Stephanette shared the veneration that the watchman on the cape of
l’Aigle inspired among the inhabitants of the neighbourhood. She
trembled as she approached him with downcast eyes.
“May God keep you, my child!” said Peyrou, affectionately, for he
loved her as he loved all who belonged to the family of his old captain,
the Commander des Anbiez.
“May St. Magnus and St. Elzear aid you, Master Peyrou!” replied
Stephanette, with her most beautiful curtsey.
“Thank you for your good wishes, Stephanette. How are monseigneur and
Mlle. Reine, your young and beautiful mistress? Has she recovered from
her fright of the other day?”
“Yes, Master Peyrou; mademoiselle is better, although she is
still quite pale. But was ever such a miscreant seen? To dare kiss
mademoiselle! and that, too, in the presence of monseigneur and her
betrothed! But people say these Muscovites are barbarians. They are more
savage and more of Antichrist than the Turks themselves, are they not,
Master Peyrou? They will be damned twice in a doubly hot fire.”
Without replying to Stephanette’s theological argument, the watchman
said to her: “Does not monseigneur resent this breach of good
manners?”
“He! Why, Master Peyrou, as true as Rosseline is a saint in Paradise,
the same day that monseigneur came so near falling into the chasm
of Ollioules, he supped as merrily as if he had just returned from a
patronal feast. Indeed, it is so,--and he drank two cups of Spanish wine
to the health of the young miscreant! And would you believe it, Master
Peyrou, he is never tired of boasting of the courage and agility of the
Muscovite! Yes, he said: ‘Manjour! instead of stealing the pin and
kiss like a thief, why did he not ask for them,--my daughter Reine would
have given him a kiss, and with a good heart too!’ And ever since that
day monseigneur is constantly saying, ‘Really, these Muscovites are
strange companions.’ But for all that, M. Honorât de Berrol turns
red with indignation whenever he hears this impudent fellow, who stole
a kiss from his betrothed, mentioned. And another strange thing, Master
Peyrou, is that monseigneur is not willing to get rid of that wicked
little horse, Mistraon, that has been the cause of all the mischief; he
rides it in preference to any other. Now say, Master Peyrou, don’t you
think that is tempting Providence?”
“Have these strangers departed from Marseilles?” asked the watchman,
without replying to Stephanette.
“Yes, Master Peyrou, they say they have taken the route to Languedoc,
after having made a visit to the Marshal of Vitry. They say, too, that
this wicked duke is quite worthy of being acquainted with such rascals.
Ah, if monseigneur had his way, the marshal would not be governor of
Provence very long. The baron cannot hear him mentioned without
flying into a passion,--such a passion! you have no idea of it, Master
Peyrou.” “Yes, my child, I have seen the baron, at the time of
the revolt of the Cascabeoux, act as his father did at the time of the
revolt of the Razats, under Henry III., and again at the time of the
rebellion of the Gascons against the Duke d’Epemon, under the last
reign. Yes, yes; I know that Raimond V. hates his enemies as much as he
loves his friends.”
“You are right, Master Peyrou, and monseigneur’s anger against the
governor has increased since this recorder of the admiralty of Toulon,
Master Isnard, who they say is so wicked, has been visiting the castles
of the diocese by order of his Eminence, the cardinal. Monseigneur says
these visits are an outrage upon the nobility, and that the Marshal of
Vitry is a scoundrel. Between us, I am of the same opinion, since he
protects shameless Muscovites who have the insolence to kiss young girls
when they are not expecting it.”
“My opinion is, Stephanette, that you are very severe upon young men
who kiss young girls,” said the old man with mock gravity, “which
proves that you are naturally ferocious,--but what do you want of me?”
“Master Peyrou,” said the girl, with an air of embarrassment, “I
want to know if the weather promises a good passage to Nice, and if one
could leave this port with safety.”
“You wish, then, to go to Nice, my child?”
“No, not I exactly, but a brave and honest sailor who--who--”
“Ah, I understand, I understand,” said the watchman, interrupting
Stephanette’s stammering; “you mean young Bernard, patron of the
tartan, the _Sacred Balm_.”
“No, no, Master Peyrou, I assure you I do not mean him,” said the
girl, turning as red as a cherry.
“Come, come, you need not blush like that,” and the watchman added,
in a lower tone: “Was the beautiful bouquet of green thyme, that he
tied three days ago to your window bar with rose coloured ribbon, to
your taste?”
“A bouquet of green thyme! What bouquet are you talking about, Master
Peyrou?”
The watchman held up a threatening finger to Stephanette and said:
“What! last Thursday, at daybreak, did not the patron Bernard carry a
bouquet to your window?”
“Wait,--let me see, Master Peyrou,” said the young girl, with an air
of recalling something to her memory; “was it then yesterday that, in
opening my casement, I found something like a bundle of dried herbs?”
“Stephanette, Stephanette! you cannot deceive the old watchman.
Listen; patron Bernard had hardly descended, when you came and untied
the rose coloured ribbon, and put the bouquet in a pretty terra-cotta
vase, and you have watered it every morning; yesterday was the only day
you neglected it, and it has withered--”
The young girl stared at the watchman in utter amazement. This
revelation seemed like sorcery.
The old man looked at her with a mischievous expression, and continued:
“So it is not the patron Bernard who is going to Nice?”
“No, Master Peyrou.” “Then it must be the pilot Terzarol.”
“The pilot Terzarol!” cried Stephanette, clasping her hands, “may
Our Lady help me, if I know anything about this pilot going to sea.”
“Well, well, my child, I was mistaken about Bernard, for it is true
that you have allowed his bouquet to wither, but I am not mistaken about
Terzarol, because yesterday, from the height of the castle turret, you
passed more than two hours looking at the bold pilot throwing nets.”
“I, Master Peyrou, I?”
“Your very self, Stephanette, and at each cast of the net,
Terzarol waved his cap in triumph, and you waved your handkerchief in
congratulation; he ought to have made a good haul, so enthusiastically
did he labour,--you come then to ask me if Terzarol will have a good
voyage to Nice?”
This time Stephanette began to feel afraid, as she realised how much the
watchman knew.
“Ah, my faith, Master Peyrou, you know everything!” cried she,
innocently.
The old man smiled, shook his head, and replied in the words of the
Provencal proverb, “_Experienco passo scienco_,--experience passes
science.”
The poor child, fearing that the watchman’s marvellous discoveries
concerning her innocent coquetry might give him a bad opinion of her,
cried, with tears in her eyes, as she clasped her hands:
“Ah, Master Peyrou, I am an honest girl!”
“I know it, my child,” said the watchman, pressing her hand
affectionately. “I know that you are worthy of the protection and
affection which your noble and kind mistress shows you. It is only
girlish mischief and love of fun which tempts you to turn the heads of
these young men, and make poor Luquin Trinquetaille jealous, Luquin, who
loves you so much and so faithfully. But listen, Stephanette, you
know the proverb of the vinedressers in our valleys: _Paou vignose
ben tengudos_,--have few vines and cultivate them well. Instead of
scattering your coquetries, concentrate all your charms upon your
betrothed, who will prove a good and honest husband for you,--that would
be far better,--and then, you see, my child, these young men are quick,
inflammable, and courageous; self-love comes in, rivalry exasperates, a
combat follows, blood flows, and then--” “Ah, Master Peyrou, then
I should die of despair. All of this is folly. I was wrong, I admit, to
amuse myself with the admiring glances of Bernard and Terzarol, for I
love Luquin and he loves me; we are going to be married the same day as
Mlle, and M. Honorât de Berrol,--the baron desires it. Really, Master
Peyrou, you, who find out everything, ought to know that I think of
nobody but Luquin. It is about his voyage that I have come to consult
you. Master Talebard-Talebardon, consul of La Ciotat, is about to send
to Nice three tartans laden with merchandise. He has made a bargain with
Luquin to escort them; do you think, Master Peyrou, the passage will be
good? Can he put to sea with safety? Is there no pirate in sight? Oh, if
a corsair is in sight, or a storm threatens, he will not depart!”
“Oh, so, so, my child, do you think you have so much influence over this
bold artilleryman? You are mistaken, I think. What! keep him in port
when there is danger in going out? You might as well try to anchor a
ship with a thread from your distaff.”
“Oh, be quiet, Master Peyrou,” said Stephanette, regaining her
composure; “to keep Luquin near me, I need not tell him of winds or
tempests or of pirates. I will only tell him that I will give Bernard a
ribbon to put on his lance at the next tilting-match, or that I will
ask the pilot Terzarol for a good place at one of the windows of his
mother’s house, that I may go with Dulceline, the housekeeper at
Maison-Forte, to see the wrestling and leaping over the cross-bar in La
Ciotat; then, I swear to you, Master Peyrou, Luquin will not go out of
the gulf, not if the consul, Talebard-Talebardon, covered the deck of
his polacre with pieces of silver.”
“Ah, what a cunning gipsy you are!” said the old man, smiling. “I
would never have thought of such tricks. Alas, alas! _Buou viel fa rego
drecho_,--the old ox makes a straight furrow. But come, now, Stephanette,
make yourself easy; you need not rob your waist of a ribbon for Bernard
nor ask for a window at the Terzarol house: the wind blows from the
west, and if it does not change at sunset, and if Martin-Bouffo, the
deep grotto of roaring waters in the gulf, says nothing tomorrow at
daybreak Luquin will be able to go out of the gulf and sail for Nice
without fear; as to the passage, I will answer for that; as to the
pirates, I am going to give you a charm that is sure in its effect, if
not to confuse them entirely, at least to prevent their carrying off the
_Holy Terror to the Moors, by the Grace of God._”
“Ah, how thankful I will be, Master Peyrou!” said the young girl, as
she assisted him to rise, for he walked with considerable pain.
The old man went into his cabin, took a little bag covered with
cabalistic signs and gave it to Stephanette, instructing her to order
Luquin to conform scrupulously to the directions he would find in it.
“How good you are, Master Peyrou! How shall I reward--”
“By promising me, my child, henceforth to allow Bernard’s bouquets
to dry on the bars of your window,--then, believe me, there will be no
more of them, because a bouquet that is watered makes many others grow.
Ah! and you must promise me, too, not to encourage pilot Terzarol’s
fishing, because to please you he would destroy all the fish in the bay,
and he would finish by being called before the overseer fishers, and I
would be obliged to condemn him. By the way, how goes on the discussion
between monseigneur and the consuls, on the right of fishing in the
cove,--does Raimond V. still keep his seines there?”
“Yes, Master Peyrou, and he will not take them away; he says that the
right of fishing there belongs to him up to the rocks of Castrembaou,
and that he will not yield that right to anybody.”
“Listen, Stephanette: your mistress has her father’s ear; do you
persuade her to counsel him to arrange it amicably with the consuls:
that will be the best for all parties.”
“Yes, Master Peyrou, make yourself easy about it, I will mention it to
Mlle. Reine.”
“Very well, my child,--good-bye, and above all, no more coquetry,--do
you promise me that?”
“Yes, Master Peyrou, only--only--”
“Well, say it”
“Only, you see, Master Peyrou, I would not like to make Bernard and
Terzarol despair entirely,--not on my own account, Our Lady, no, but
on account of Luquin, because I must have some means of keeping him in
port, in case of great danger, you see, Master Peyrou,--and for that
purpose, jealousy is worth more than all the anchors of his ship.”
“That is right,” said the watchman, with a significant smile, “you
must think of Luquin above all things.”
The young girl dropped her eyes and smiled, then said: “Ah, I was
about to forget, Master Peyrou, to ask you if you thought that monsieur,
the commander, and the Reverend Father Elzear would arrive here for the
Christmas holidays, as the baron hopes. He is so anxious to see his two
brothers again--do you know that Christmas has been twice celebrated at
Maison-Forte without them?”
At the mention of the commander, the face of the watchman took on an
expression of profound melancholy.
“If God grants my most earnest prayers, my child, they will both come,
but, alas, Father Elzear has gone to redeem captives in Algiers, as a
worthy and courageous brother of mercy, and the faith of those Barbary
people is perfidious!”
“Yes, Master Peyrou, as Father Elzear learned by experience when he
was kept in the convict-prison among slaves for one year! At his age,
too, to suffer so much!”
“And without a murmur,--without losing his adorable saintliness--”
“Speaking of them, Master Peyrou, why is the commander’s galley,
instead of being white and gold like the gallant galleys of the king,
and of monseigneur, the Duke of Guise, always painted in black like a
coffin? Why are its sails and masts black? Really, nothing looks more
solemn, and his sailors and his soldiers, they look as hard and severe
as Spanish monks; and then the commander himself looks so sad. I never
saw a smile on his pale face but once, and that was when he arrived at
Maison-Forte and embraced monseigneur and my mistress. Yet, my God, what
a melancholy smile! Is it not strange, Master Peyrou, and all the more
so because Luquin told me, the other day, that when he was artilleryman
on board _La Guisarde_, the admiral’s galley, in the waters of the
Levant, many a time he has seen the commanders and captains of Malta at
Naples, and notwithstanding the severity of their order, they were as
merry as other officers.”
The watchman for some moments seemed as if he no longer heard the girl;
his head had fallen upon his breast, he was lost in profound meditation,
and when Stephanette bade him farewell, he responded only by an
affectionate gesture of the hand. Some time after the departure of the
young girl, he went into his cabin, opened the carved ebony box he found
there, sprung the secret lock of a double bottom, and took out of it a
little casket chased with silver; an embassed Maltese cross ornamented
its cover.
For a long time he gazed at this casket with sorrowful attention; the
sight of it seemed to awaken the most bitter memories. Then, assuring
himself that this mysterious trust was still intact, he shut the doors
of the ebony chest and, like a dreamer, returned to his seat at the door
of his cabin.