"Madame is too good."

"Not a bit," put in my mother, who would have heard me called angel with pleasure.

"I love the sea. M. Andre does not; but he humours me in everything.

I have made him buy a fine yacht--large, strong, swift, of English build. You have seen her. I have called her the _Zephire_. She lies in the harbour there, and wants a captain and a crew. You must be the captain, P-i-e-r-r-e!"

You know how women wheedle--handsome, especially?

"This summer," continued Cecile, "we intend to cruise north. I long to see new countries. I am tired of life here. I long to skim over the waves and feel the cool breezes of northern seas."

"Madame, I will consider. I must have time. You must give me time."

"You will not refuse me--n.o.body would. I shall feel safe only with you in command of our yacht. What answer shall I give M. Andre, who is all impatience to know?"

"I will answer myself to M. Andre to-morrow."

When she was gone, my good mother pressed me to go--though she would a thousand times rather have kept me at home. But she knew that it is necessary for a man to be doing something. Ah, she is a woman, indeed!

"This will be an easy berth, Pierre," she said. "You will be at home with me here all the winters, with the _Zephire_ safely laid up in dock."

The next day I called upon M. Andre at his office.

"I accept the command of your yacht, monsieur," I said. "I shall always do my best for you, I hope."

The wages were liberal. I was to choose a crew of picked men--all old sailors.

"We wish to sail in a week," said M. Andre. "Can you be ready by then?"

"I can," was my answer.

It was not the wheedling of Cecile; it was not my mother's urging me; it was not the beautiful yacht of M. Andre's, nor his good wages, that made me decide to become captain of the _Zephire_.

It was because the _Lepante_ had gone north.

The _Zephire_ was as fine a craft as ever seaman handled. She was perfect, from keel to mast, from bow to stern.

Those English know how to build ships.

I had under me a crew of six picked men. We had, besides, a cook, a real _chef_, for M. Andre was something of a _gourmet_, and would have the hand of an artist in his dishes, not the bungling of a scullion.

Monsieur and Madeline, with the little Cecile and their servants, came on board on Sunday morning, as the people were going to ma.s.s; for we would sail on a seaman's lucky day. We weighed anchor. There was wind enough in the bay to fill our new white sails. All went without a hitch: we were off!

We had two months of the finest weather. Cecile's cheeks wore new colour, and her black eyes sparkled with delight, as we sped along ten knots an hour. M. Andre was not dissatisfied. He saw Madame pleased.

That is something for an elderly husband. He dined well, and he slept undisturbed under an awning on deck, or in his cabin. But this could not last forever. We were three days from the last port we had touched at, in a northerly lat.i.tude, and I could see we were going to have some weather. The sunset was angry; black clouds rose; the wind freshened into a stiff breeze. M. Andre called it an infernal gale.

The sea became rough for a landsman; and Monsieur not unnaturally felt squeamish. Dinner was served under difficulties that evening, and Monsieur could not taste even the soup.

I took every precaution. Sails were reefed, and all was made taut.

"Bad weather coming, sir!" said my mate.

"Do you think so?" I answered, not wishing my own opinion to get to the ears of Cecile, as she would be frightened enough before morning.

But I stepped aft, and told M. Andre. The brave merchant groaned, and wished he was in bed at Benevent. But wishing will not take one there.

It was in the small hours. We men were all on deck. We were driving along at a fearful rate under bare poles. The waves were huge mountains. The storm raged with fury. The night was pitchy dark.

Thunder and lightning did not serve to make things more agreeable. Not a seaman on board had ever seen such a night. It was necessary to lash oneself to the vessel to avoid being washed overboard.

Of a sudden there was a terrific crash!

The women below shrieked and prayed.

The _chef_ wanted to jump overboard.

M. Andre cried, "We have struck on a rock! We are lost!"

"Have courage!" I cried. "Fetch the women on deck. There is not an instant to be lost. The yacht is filling!"

We had come into collision with a large vessel. I could see her lights.

She had just cleared us. A flash of blue lightning showed me the name painted in white letters on her stern.

She was the _Lepante_, of Ma.r.s.eilles.

There was a lull in the storm.

There remained one chance for life--to get on board the vessel. The yacht was filling fast, and in a few minutes would settle down.

Except one or two tried sailors--old comrades of mine--everybody on board was paralysed.

It was for me to act--to choose for all.

The choice was--Death or the _Lepante_.

I chose the _Lepante_.

A Frenchman stays at the post of duty.

As captain, I was responsible for the lives of all on board. I was, therefore, the last to leave the sinking _Zephire_. Cecile was hoisted up the side of the _Lepante_ first. I heard a shriek. In the just-beginning twilight I could see two figures.

A man's and a woman's. I knew them.

Marc had raised Cecile on to the deck of the _Lepante_, and had recognised her, and she him.

The horrors of the storm, of the shipwreck, the prospect of death, were to me as nothing to this meeting.