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Page 66
"Yessir," continued the captain; "speaks I-talyan an' English. An' if
I ever meets a lady with long soft hands like his'n, I'm for a pert
talk, straightway."
"What's the matter with his hands?" asked the admiral.
"Why, Commodore, they're as soft as Miss Laura's here, an' yet when th'
big Swede who handles th' baggage was a-foolin' with him this mornin',
it was the Swede who begs off. Nary a callous, an' yet he bowls the
big one round the deck like he was a liner being pierced by a sassy
tug. An' what gets me is, he knows every bolt from stem to stern, sir,
an' an all-round good sailor int' th' bargain; an' it don' take me
more'n twelve hours t' find that out. Well, I'm off t' th' bridge.
Good day, ladies."
When he was out of earshot the admiral roared. "He's the dearest old
liar since M�nchhausen."
"Aren't they true stories?" asked Hildegarde.
"Bless you, no! And he knows we know it, too. But he tells them so
well that I've never had the courage to sheer him off."
"It's amusing," said Laura; "but I do not think that it's always fair
to him."
"Why, Laura, you're as good a listener as any I know. Read him a
tract, if you wish."
Breitmann rose presently and sauntered forward, while M. Ferraud
snuggled down in his rugs again. The others entered into a game of
deck-cricket.
But M. Ferraud was not so ill that he was unable to steal from his
cabin at half after nine, at night, without even the steward being
aware of his departure. It can not be said that he roamed about the
deck, for whenever he moved it was in the shadow, and always forward.
By and by voices drifted down the wind. One he knew and expected,
Breitmann's; of the other he was not sure, though the French he spoke
was of classic smoothness. M. Ferraud was exceedingly interested. He
had been waiting for this meeting. Only a phrase or two could be heard
distinctly. But words were not necessary. What he desired above all
things was a glimpse of this Frenchman's face. After several minutes
Breitmann went aft. M. Ferraud stepped out cautiously, and luck was
with him. The sailor to whom Breitmann had spoken so earnestly was
lolling against the rail, in the act of lighting a cigarette. The
light from the match was feeble, but it sufficed the keen eyes of the
watcher. He gasped a little. Strong hands indeed! Here in the garb
of a common sailor, was one of the foremost Orleanists in France!
CHAPTER XVII
A QUESTION FROM KEATS
Breitmann and the admiral usually worked from ten till luncheon, unless
it was too stormy; and then the admiral took the day off. The business
under hand was of no great moment; it was rather an outlet for the
admiral's energy, and gave him something to look forward to as each day
came round. Many a morning he longed for the quarter-deck of his old
battle-ship; the trig crew and marines lined up for inspection; the
revelries of the foreign ports; the great manoeuvres; the target
practice. Never would his old heart swell again under the full-dress
uniform nor his eyes sparkle under the plume of his rank. He was
retired on half-pay. Only a few close friends knew how his half-pay
was invested. There remained perhaps ten of the old war-crew, and
among them every Christmas the admiral's half-pay was divided. This
and his daughter were the two unalloyed joys of his life.
Since his country had no further use for him, and as it was as
necessary as air to his lungs that he tread the deck of a ship, he had
purchased the _Laura_; and, when he was not stirring up the bones of
dead pirates, he was at Cowes or at Brest or at Keil or on the Hudson,
wherever the big fellows indulged in mimic warfare.
"That will be all this morning, Mr. Breitmann," he said, rising and
looking out of the port-hole.
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