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.