iberal. 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 mass; 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 latitude, 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 unde