s before our defenses were completed, it would
go hard with us. So we had enough to think about. But it did not
diminish our courage or our industry. If only Mademoiselle Capello
were safe! That was the thought in my heart.

On the fifteenth day after our arrival, about noon, as I stood on the
terrace making some changes, under Count Saxe's eye, for one of the
guns to be planted there, I happened to glance toward the point of the
mainland, and saw a strange figure standing there waving a crimson
mantle by way of a signal; and it was Francezka's mantle.

Count Saxe saw it as soon as I, and recognized it.

"Go you at once, with a boat," he said, and I lost no time.

When I stepped out of the boat on the mainland, the fellow who had
been signaling came up to me. He was barelegged, and wore the tattered
uniform of a Russian foot soldier, with a sheepskin mantle, but he
spoke remarkably good French for a foot soldier.

"I have a letter," he said in French, "for Count Saxe."

"You mean," I replied, "for his Highness, the Duke of Courland. Give
it me then, and, also, that mantle." And I shoved a gold piece into
his hand. He grinned and gave up both the mantle and the letter.

With them, I returned to the island. Count Saxe met me at the landing
place, and I handed him the letter, which was from Gaston Cheverny. It
read:

Your Highness:

Here I am with my young brother Francois, in the hands of the
Russians. Francois is young and delicate, and must be succored. A
ransom of ten thousand crowns is asked for us both--nor will the
Russians agree to part with one of us without the other. Francois
must be succored, I say. My estate in France is not great, but it
is ten thousand crowns at least, and I think the ransom not
excessive. Francois, I repeat, must be succored. Your Highness's
ever faithful

Gaston Cheverny.

Count Saxe looked at me reflectively, after I had read the letter.

"Of course, she must be succored. Ten thousand crowns is a large sum
for some purposes; not large to pay as ransom for a lady."

"Not for some ladies," I answered. "Not for Mademoiselle Capello."

"Babache, you are a Tatar and have the sentiments of a Tatar," said my
master; and then he got with me into the boat and we pulled across the
bright blue water to where the rascal awaited us, sunning himself with
great enjoyment in the August noon.

Count Saxe saw through the fellow's disguise at once. He liked not to
deal