which she was evidently not unaccustomed, was
pleased to observe, that I was "_un beau garcon_."

In returning the skipper's polite bow she happened to notice the poor
wounded sailors lying on the cushions by the companion, and the blood
all sprinkled about--a sight at which she turned up her nose, declaring
very volubly that the place was like a "pigsty," unfit for any lady to
enter, and expressing her surprise at those "common seamen" being
attended to and allowed to remain in the saloon, she having always
understood that that apartment was only for "the use of the first-class
passengers."

The skipper, who understood her well enough, as I did too, having learnt
the language at a French school near Rouen, was very angry at her
remarks.

"Those men," said he in his best Parisian, "are your own countrymen, all
that are left of those who died to preserve the lives of you and your
husband there, who ought to be ashamed of himself for skulking below
while they were fighting on deck."

Monsieur looked foolish, but said nothing in reply to this. Madame
sniffed, and flashed her glittering black eyes, as if she could
annihilate him at a glance.

"My brave Hercules!" she cried indignantly, "be easy. You have been out
in the Bois and have established your reputation as a hero and have no
need to notice the insulting remarks of this Englishman. But for you,"
she added, turning angrily to the colonel, "this would not have
happened."

"I? Good Heavens!" exclaimed Colonel Vereker, greatly astonished at her
turning on him thus. "Why, it was I who did all in my power to prevent
Captain Alphonse from allowing those cursed blacks on board the ship in
the first instance, but you and Monsieur Boisson, both of you, persuaded
him to the contrary."

"My God! dear Hercules, see how we are calumniated," said the irate
Frenchwoman, rather illogically, turning to her miserable atom of a
husband, who gesticulated and shrugged his shoulders in response, and
looking over the skipper and Colonel Vereker as if neither existed, she
went on to remark to Elsie, who, however, did not appear to relish very
much her conversation or endearments, that, "some persons whom she would
not condescend to name, were, of monsters, the most infamous and
ungrateful--men, indeed, of the gutter--but that she, the little one,
was an angel."

Here the skipper put an end to the interview. He had evidently seen and
had enough of the Boissons, husband and w