The little satchel and the open letter were lying on the watchman’s
knees. With a movement more rapid than thought, which escaped the
observation of the Bohemian, he hid the whole in his girdle. At the same
time he assured himself that his long Catalonian knife would come out
of its scabbard easily, for the sinister countenance of the vagabond did
not inspire confidence.
For some moments these two men looked at each other in silence, and
measured each other with their eyes.
Although old, the watchman was still fresh and vigorous.
The Bohemian, more slender, was much younger, and seemed hardy and
resolute.
Peyrou was much annoyed by this visit. He wished to watch the manoeuvres
of the suspicious chebec; the presence of the Bohemian constrained him.
“What do you want?” said the watchman, rudely.
“Nothing; I came to see the sun go down in the sea.”
“It is a beautiful sight, but it can be seen elsewhere.”
As he said these words, the watchman entered his cell, took two pistols,
placed one in his girdle, loaded the other, took it in his hand, and
came out.
By that time the chebec could be distinguished by the naked eye.
The Bohemian, seeing Peyrou armed, could not repress a movement of
surprise, almost of vexation, but he said to him, in a bantering tone,
as he pointed to the pistol:
“You carry there a strange telescope, watchman!”
“The other is good to watch your enemy when he is far off; this one
serves my purpose when he is near.”
“Of what enemy are you speaking, watchman?”
“Of you.”
“Of me?”
“Of you.”
After exchanging these words, the men were silent for some time.
“You are mistaken. I am the guest of Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez,”
said the Bohemian, with emphasis.
“Is the venomous scorpion, too, the guest of the house he inhabits?”
replied Peyrou, looking steadily in his eyes.
The eyes of the vagabond kindled, and, by a muscular contraction of
his cheeks, Peyrou saw that he was gnashing his teeth; nevertheless, he
replied to Peyrou, with affected calmness:
“I do not deserve your reproaches, watchman. Raimond V. took pily on a
poor wanderer, and offered me the hospitality of his roof--”
“And to prove your gratitude to him, you wish to bring sorrow and ruin
upon that roof.”
“I?”
“Yes, you,--you are in communication with that chebec down there,
beating about the horizon.”
The Bohemian looked at the vessel with the most indifferent air in the
world, and replied:
“On my life, I have never set foot on a ship; as to the communication
which you suppose I have with that boat, that you call a chebec, I
believe,--I doubt if my voice or my signal could reach it.”
The watchman threw a penetrating glance on the Bohemian, and said to
him:
“You have never set foot on the deck of a ship?”
“Never, except on those boats on the Rhone, for I was born in
Languedoc, on the highway; my father and mother belonged to a band of
Bohemians which came from Spain, and the only recollection that I have
of my childhood is the refrain so often sung in our wandering clan:
“‘Cuando me pario Mi madre la gitana.’
“That is all I know of my birth,--all the family papers I have,
watchman.”
“The Bohemians of Spain speak Arabic also,” said Peyrou, observing
the vagabond attentively.
“They say so. I know no other language than the one I speak,--very
badly, as you see.”
“The sun is setting behind those great clouds down there; for one
who is fond of that sight you seem to be quite indifferent to it,”
answered the watchman, with an ironical air. “No doubt the chebec
interests you more.”
“To-morrow evening I can see the sun set; to-day I would rather spend
my time in guessing your riddles, watchman.”
During this conversation, the syndic of the overseers had not lost sight
of the vessel, which continued to beat about, evidently waiting for a
signal.
Although the appearance of this vessel was suspicious, Peyrou hesitated
to give the alarm on the coast by kindling the fire. To set the whole
seashore in excitement unnecessarily was a dangerous precedent, because
some other time, in case of real danger, the signal might be taken for a
false alarm.
While the watchman was absorbed in these reflections, the Bohemian
looked around him uneasily; he was trying to discover some traces of
the eagle, as from the rock where he had been squatting, he had seen
Brilliant alight in this direction.
For a moment he thought of getting rid of Peyrou, but he soon renounced
this idea. The watchman, strong and well-armed, was on his guard.
Peyrou, notwithstanding the anger that the presence of the vagabond
inspired in him, feared to see him descend again to the castle of
Maison-Forte, as Raimond V. did not suspect this wretch. Besides, seeing
his wicked designs discovered, the villain might attempt some diabolical
scheme before he left the country.
However, it was impossible to abandon his sentry-box under such serious
circumstances, in order to warn the baron. Night was approaching, and
the Bohemian was still there.
Happily, the moon was almost full; in spite of the densely piled clouds,
her light was bright enough to reveal all the manoeuvres of the chebec.
The Bohemian, his arms crossed on his breast, surveyed Peyrou, with
imperturbable coolness.
“You see the sun has set,” said this old seaman, “the night will
be cold; you had better return to Maison-Forte.”
“I intend to spend the night here,” replied the vagabond.
The watchman, made furious by the remark, rose, and walking up to the
Bohemian with a threatening air, said:
“And by Our Lady, I swear that you shall descend to the beach this
instant!”
“And suppose I do not wish to go.”
“I will kill you.”
The Bohemian shrugged his shoulders.
“You will not kill me, watchman, and I will remain.”
Peyrou raised his pistol, and exclaimed: “Take care!”
“Would you kill a defenceless man, who has never done you any harm? I
defy you,” said the vagabond, without moving from the spot.
The watchman dropped his arm; he revolted at the thought of murder. He
replaced his pistol in his belt, and walked back and forth in violent
agitation. He found himself in a singular position,--he could not
rid himself of this persistent villain by fear or force; he must then
resolve to pass the night on guard.
He resigned himself to this last alternative, hoping that next day some
one might appear, and he would be able to rid himself of the Bohemian.
“Very well, let it be,” said he, with a forced smile. “Although I
have not invited you to be my companion, we will pass the night by the
side of each other.”
“And you will not repent it, watchman. I am not a sailor, but I have
a telescope. If the chebec annoys you, I will assist you in watching
it.”
After some moments of silence, the watchman seated himself on a piece of
the rock.
The wind, increasing in violence, blew with irresistible force. Great
clouds from time to time veiled the pale disc of the moon, and the door
of the sentry-box, left open, was flapping with a loud noise.
“If you wish to be of some use,” said Peyrou, “take that end of
the rope there on the ground, and fasten the door of my cell, because
the wind will continue to rise.” The Bohemian looked at the watchman
with an astonished air, and hesitated to obey for a moment.
“You wish to shut me up in there. You are cunning, watchman.”
Peyrou bit his lips, and replied:
“Fasten that door on the outside, I tell you, or I will take you for a
bad fellow.”
The Bohemian, seeing nothing disagreeable in satisfying the watchman,
picked up the rope, passed it through a ring screwed to the door, and
tied it to a cramp-iron fixed in the wall.
The watchman, seated, was attentively watching the movements of his
companion. When the knot was tied, Peyrou approached it, and said, after
examining it a moment:
“As sure as God is in heaven, you are a sailor!”
“I, watchman?”
“And you have served on board those corsairs from Barbary.”
“Never! Never!”
“I tell you that one who has not sailed with the pirates of Algiers
or Tunis cannot have the habit of making that triple knot that you have
just made. Only pirates fasten tie anchor to the ring in that manner!”
The Bohemian now, in his turn, bit his lips until they bled, but,
regaining his self-possession, he said:
“Come now, you have a sharp eye; you are both right and wrong, my lord
watchman, this knot was taught me by one of our people, who joined us in
Languedoc, after having been made a slave on a corsair from Algiers.”
Losing all patience, and furious at the villain’s impudence, the
watchman cried:
“I tell you that you are lying. You came here to prepare some
villainous scheme. Look at this!”
And the watchman held up the little satchel The Bohemian, struck with
amazement, uttered a curse in Arabic in spite of himself.
If the watchman had felt the least doubt concerning the character of the
Bohemian, this last exclamation, which had so often met his ears in his
combats with the pirates, would have sufficed to prove the truth of his
suspicions.
The eyes of the Bohemian flashed with rage.
“I see all,” said he, “the eagle came here to devour the pigeon!
From the beach I saw her alight in these rocks. That satchel or your
life!” cried the villain, drawing a dagger from his doublet, and
rushing upon the watchman. The pistol on Peyrou’s breast recalled the
fact to him that his enemy was more formidably armed than himself.
Stamping his foot with rage, the vagabond cried:
“Eblis (_Eblis is the Arabic for devil_) is with him!”
“I was sure of it, you are a pirate. That chebec is waiting for your
instructions, or your signal to approach the coast or retire from
it. Your rage is great to see all your wicked designs discovered, you
villain!” said the watchman.
“Eblis touched me with his invisible wingt so that I was about to
forget the only means of repairing everything,” suddenly cried the
Bohemian.
With one joyous bound he disappeared from the astonished eyes of the
watchman, and hastily descended the precipitous road which led to the
shore.