"What! Are you afraid of him, you coward?" asked Calabash, provokingly.

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders significantly; then replied:

"Afraid of him? No, I should rather think not! But I have a strong
suspicion he means to sell us,--that is my only fear; as for any other
sort of dread, my weazen-slicer (knife) has rather too keen an edge for
that!"

"Ah, when he is not here, you are full of boast and brag; but only let
him show his face, and you are quiet as a mouse!"

This reproach seemed quite thrown away upon Nicholas, who, affecting not
to have heard it, exclaimed:

"Come, come! Let's unload the boat at once. Where is Francois, mother?
He could help us a good deal."

"Mother has locked him up, after having preciously flogged him; and, I
can tell you, he will have to go to bed without any supper."

"Well and good as far as that goes; but still, he might lend a hand in
unloading the boat,--eh, mother? Because, then myself and Calabash could
fetch all in at once."

The widow raised her hand, and pointed with her finger towards the
ceiling. Her daughter perfectly comprehended the signal, and departed at
once to fetch Francois.

The countenance of the widow Martial had become less cloudy since the
arrival of Nicholas, whom she greatly preferred to Calabash, but by no
means entertaining for him the affection she felt for her Toulon son, as
she designated him; for the maternal love of this ferocious woman
appeared to increase in proportion to the criminality of her offspring.
This perverse preference will serve to account for the widow's
indifference towards her two younger children, neither of whom exhibited
any disposition to evil, as well as her perfect hatred of Martial, her
eldest son, who, although not leading an altogether irreproachable life,
might still have passed for a perfectly honest and well-conducted person
if placed in comparison with Nicholas, Calabash, or his brother, the
felon at Toulon.

"Which road did you take to-night?" inquired the widow of her son.

"Why, as I returned from the Quai de Billy, where, you know, I had to go
to meet the gentleman who appointed to see me there, I spied a barge
moored alongside the quay; it was as dark as pitch. 'Halloa!' says I,
'no light in the cabin? No doubt,' says I, 'all hands are ashore. I'll
just go on board, and have a look; if I meet any one, it's easy to ask
for a bit of string, and make up a fudge about wanting to splice my
oar.' So up the side