Three days after the dreadful combat between Pierre des Anbiez and Erebus, the black galley and the polacre of Luquin were anchored in the port of La Ciotat.
The great clock in the hall of Maison-Forte had just struck nine. Captain Trinquetaille was walking softly on tiptoe through the gallery where the Christmas ceremonies had taken place, directing his steps toward the apartment of Mlle. des Anbiez. He knocked at the little door of the oratory. Stephanette soon came out of the door.
“Ah, well, Luquin,” said the young girl, anxiously,
“how has he passed the night?”
“Badly, Stephanette, very badly; the abbé says there is no hope for him.”
“Poor child!” said the young girl, “and how is M. Commander?”
“Always in the same state, seated at the youth’s bedside like a statue; he never moves or speaks or sees or hears. Father Elzear says if M. Commander could only weep, he might be saved, if not—”
“Well?”
“If not, he fears his head,” and Luquin made a gesture indicating the alarm felt for the commander’s mind.
“Ah, my God, if that misfortune should be added to all the others!”
“And how is Mlle. Reine?” asked Luquin.
“Always suffering. The sad ceremony of the baptism yesterday affected her so deeply! Monseigneur wished her to be with him sponsor to this poor young pagan whom they called Erebus, so that he can die a Christian. My God! at his age never to have been baptised! Fortunately, Father Elzear has given him the sacrament! Ah, poor young man, he will bear the Christian names that monseigneur and mademoiselle have given him only until this evening.”
“And how is monseigneur?” asked Luquin.
“Oh, as to monseigneur, he would be on his feet and with the commander if we would listen to him. Abbé Mascarolus says an ordinary man would have been killed by such a wound, and that monseigneur must have a head as hard as iron to have resisted that heavy club. Thank God, he who gave that blow will not give any more.”
“Speaking of that, Stephanette, you know they have not been able to find the body of Pog-Reis under the ruins of the abbey?”
“He was only an infidel, but, oh, to die without burial!” said Stephanette, with a shudder. “How was he buried under the ruins?”
“This is what M. Honorat told me, and he ought to know. The moment the unfortunate young man fell, wounded by the commander, Pog-Reis, as they called him, seized M. Honorat, so as to prevent his separating the two combatants. Suddenly, as you know, the thunderbolt burst in the middle of the bay It struck the Red Galleon; her powder took fire, and she was blown up, and carried with her the other galley, already seriously damaged by the culverin of Master Laramée. Not a pirate escaped. The waves of the bay were so high and so powerful that the best swimmer would have been drowned a thousand times over.”
“But, Pog-Reis?” asked Stephanette.
“The explosion was so tremendous that the earth trembled. M. Honorat told me this: ‘The pirate, startled, then left me. I ran to the commander, who had already been thrown on the body of his son. He was embracing him, as he sobbed. At the time of the explosion Pog-Reis was standing on the ruins. Those old walls, shaken by the commotion and violence of the wind, suddenly fell and crushed him beneath their weight’ This morning, some fishermen coming from the bay said the stones were so enormous that they could not be moved, and so they had given up all hope of finding the body of the brigand.”
“My God! my God! What a disaster, Luquin, and how it proves that Heaven is just See, the two galleys of these brigands were struck and not one escaped! And Pog-Reis crushed under the ruins of the abbey!”
“No doubt, no doubt, Stephanette, Heaven has done much; but it has not done all, there remains yet another account to settle.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we heard this explosion at sea, and when we set sail for Maison-Forte, and a little faster, too, than I wished, for the tempest was driving my polacre over the waves like a feather in the air, you see—”
“That is true, Luquin, we thought we were lost What weather! what waves! we thought we had escaped one danger only to fall into another.”
“Yes, yes. Ah, well, what was it passed within range of my cannon during the hurricane?”
“How do I know? I was too much frightened and too much occupied with my mistress to see what was happening around us.”
“Indeed, Stephanette! Ah, well, it was the chebec of that cursed Bohemian whom hell leaves on this earth I know not why. Yes, it was his chebec that was near us. He had, by chance, anchored his ship so far from the galleys that he did not feel the explosion. Two hours after, when he had brought M. Commander, M. Honorat, and that poor young man on board the galley, taking advantage of the commander’s forgetfulness, who neglected to have him hanged, he had the audacity to set sail again, and it was he we saw pass us, returning, no doubt, to the south, where he will be drowned or burned if the good God wishes to finish the example he has already given us in destroying the two galleys of these infidels. That is what I wish may happen to him.”
“Come, come, Luquin, you are so enraged against this wretch; do not think of him any more. Yet it was he who brought on board the black galley Mlle. Reine, me, my companions, the prisoners, the recorder Isnard and his clerk, who were among the captives, and who never ceased to call him our deliverer. So do have a little pity on your neighbour—”
“My neighbour! that miserable vagabond! My neighbour! the neighbour of Satan! That is what he is!”
“Ah, how wicked you are in your hatred!”
“Come, now, that is pretty good!” cried Luquin, in a fury, “that is the way you defend him now! You can do no more than regret him. Besides, he said, really, that you would regret him, and perhaps he was not wrong!” “Indeed, if you begin your jealousy again, you will make me regret him.”
“Regret him—him! you dare—”
“Without doubt; for at least, one time in his ship, he left me to weep and grieve in peace, and—”
“But that was not what he said. H’m—h’m—the honeyed words of this insolent prattler were quite capable of making you forget your grief for a time, no doubt.”
Stephanette, indignant, was about to reply to her betrothed, when the whistle of Mlle, des Anbiez called her to that lady’s apartment.
She entered, after having thrown an angry glance at Luquin.
The captain was in the way of repenting of his suspicions when the majordomo Laramée, coming precipitately out of the chamber of Raimond V., said:
“Here you are, Luquin, come quick and help me to carry monseigneur to the commander. He is too weak to walk; we will carry him in his armchair.”
Luquin followed Laramée, and entered the baron’s chamber. The old gentleman was still very pale, a wide black bandage wrapped his head, but he had partly recovered his vivacity and his energy. Abbé Mascarolus was with him.
“You say, then, abbé, that this poor young man is about to die, and he wishes to speak to me?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“And how is my brother Pierre?”
“In the same state, monseigneur.”
“Quick, quick, Laramée, throw a mantle over my shoulders, and I will walk on your legs and the legs of this boy, for my own will not support me yet.” Luquin took the armchair on one side, and Laramée took the other, and they transported the baron into the large chamber where Erebus was lying. At the door of this chamber they found Peyrou, the watchman, who anxiously awaited news from his old captain.
The face of Erebus already gave signs of approaching death. His features, once so clear, so beautiful, so serene, were painfully contorted. He was pale with the pallor of the dying. His eyes shone with a brilliancy all the more intense because it was so soon to be eclipsed in death. His wound was mortal, and no place was left for hope.
Pierre des Anbiez, wearing the same clothes he wore on the day of the fatal encounter, was seated on the foot of his son’s bed, absolutely motionless, his head bowed on his breast, his hands on his knees, his gaze fixed upon the floor; s............