After the calm the storm came, after the storm the rough winds and

winnowed skies. At one moment the ship threatened to leap to heaven,

at another, to plunge down to the sea's floor. Breton had a time of it

one afternoon in the cabin. He was buffeted about like maize in a

heated pan. He fell, and in trying to save himself he clutched at the

garments hanging from the hooks. The cloth gave. The pommel of the

Chevalier's rapier hit him in the forehead, cutting and dazing him. He

rose, staggering, and indulged in a little profanity which made him

eminently human. One by one he gathered up the fallen garments and

cloaks. It was haphazard work: for now the floor was where the

partition had been, and the ceiling where the bunk had stood. Keys had

rolled from the Chevalier's pockets--keys, coins, and rings; and Breton

scrambled and slid around on his hands and knees till he had recovered

these treasures, which he knew to be all his master had. He thought of

the elegant rubies and sapphires and topaz of the garters he had

ordered for his master but four months gone. And that mysterious lady

of high degree? Paris! Alas, Paris was so far away that he, Breton,

was like to see it never again.

He stood up, balanced himself, and his eye caught sight of the grey

cloak, which lay crumpled under the bunk.

"Ah! so it is you, wretched cloak, that gave way when I clung to you

for help?" He stooped and dragged it forth by its skirts. "So it was

you?" swinging it fiercely above his head and balancing himself nicely.

The bruise on his forehead made him savage. "Whatever made me bring

you to the Corne d'Abondance? What could you not tell, if voice were

given to you? And Monsieur Paul used to look so fine in it! You make

me cold in the spine!" He shook it again and again, then hung it up by

the torn collar, which had yielded over-readily to his frenzied grasp.

As the ache in his head subsided, so diminished the strength of his

wrath; and he went out to ask the Chevalier if he should keep the

valuables in his own pocket or replace them in the pocket of the

pantaloons from which they had fallen. The Chevalier took the rings

and slipped them on his fingers, all save the signet ring, which he

handed to his lackey.

"Keep this, lad, till I ask for it," was all he said.

Breton put the ring in the little chamois bag which his mother had

given him. The ring rattled against a little silver crucifix. The lad

then returned to the cabin and read his favorite book till his eyes

grew weary. He looked about for a marker and espied some papers on the

floor. These he thrust into his place and fell to dreaming.




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