honour!'
This man speaks, not as Chief of a grand State, not as leader of noble
gentlemen, but as Emperor of a society of serfs. France is no empire;
she is a grand nation of spirit, of valour, above all, of honour. The
English have treated me, as I would treat them, with kindness, with
largeness, with confidence. In the name of fair France, I will not do
this thing."

Carne was naturally pale, but now he grew white with rage, and his black
eyes flashed.

"France will be an empire within six months; and your honour will be put
upon prison diet, while your family starve for the sake of it."

"If I ever meet you under other circumstances," replied the brave
Frenchman, now equally pale, "I shall demand reparation, sir."

"With great pleasure," replied Carne, contemptuously; "meanwhile
monsieur will have enough to do to repair his broken fortunes."

Captain Desportes turned his back, and gave a whistle for his crew,
then stepped with much dignity into his boat. "To the Blonde, lads,"
he cried, "to the unsullied Blonde!" Then he sate, looking at her, and
stroked his grizzled beard, into which there came trickling a bitter
tear or two, as he thought of his wife and family. He had acted well;
but, according to the measure of the present world, unwisely.

CHAPTER XXV

NO CONCERN OF OURS

The very next morning it was known to the faithful of Springhaven
that the glory of the place would be trebled that day, and its income
increased desirably. That day, the fair stranger (which had so long
awakened the admiration of the women, and the jealousy of the men) would
by the consummate skill of Captain Zeb--who had triumphed over all the
officers of the British Navy--float forth magnificently from her narrow
bed, hoist her white sails, and under British ensign salute the new
fort, and shape a course for Portsmouth. That she had stuck fast and in
danger so long was simply because the cocked hats were too proud to give
ear to the wisdom in an old otter-skin. Now Admiral Darling was baffled
and gone; and Captain Tugwell would show the world what he could do, and
what stuff his men were made of, if they only had their way. From old
Daddy Stakes, the bald father of the village, to Mrs. Caper junior's
baby--equally bald, but with a crop as sure of coming as mustard and
cress beneath his flannel--some in arms, some on legs, some upon brave
crutches, all were abroad in the soft air from the west, which had
stolen up under the s