christmas had at last arrived.

although the fear of the barbary pirates had kept the city and the coast in alarm for several days, the people began to feel safe from attack.

the north wind had lasted so long and had blown with such violence that they did not suppose the pirate vessels dared put to sea in such weather, and it seemed still less probable that they would anchor in a harbour on their seashore, which was exactly what pog and trimalcyon had done.

the security felt by the inhabitants was fatal to them.

forty hours at least were required for the galley of the commander to sail from cape corsica to la ciotat. the tempest had ceased only the evening before, and pierre des anbiez had been compelled to wait until christmas morning to put to sea.

on the contrary, the galleys of the pirates were able to reach la ciotat in three hours; the island of port-cros, where they had taken refuge, was only about six leagues distant.

but, as we have said, fear was no longer felt along the coast; besides, they reckoned upon the well-known vigilance of the watchman, master peyrou.

he would give the alarm in case of danger; two signals, corresponding with the sentry-box on cape l’aigle, had been established, one at a point opposite the bay, the other on the terrace of maison-forte.

at the slightest alarm all the men of la ciotat, capable of bearing arms, were to assemble in the town hall, there to take orders from the consul, and hasten to the point which might be attacked.

a chain had been extended across the entrance of the port, and several large fishing-boats, armed with swivel-guns, were anchored a short distance from this chain. finally, two coxswains of a long-boat, occupied a whole morning in exploring the environage, had upon their return increased the general feeling of security by announcing that not a sail was to be seen for a distance of three or four leagues.

it was about two hours after midday. a sharp wind from the east had taken the place of the north wind of the preceding days. the sky was clear, the sun bright for a winter day, and the sea beautiful, although there was a gentle swell.

a child carrying a basket on his head began to climb, singing all the while, the steep rocks which led to the house of the watchman.

suddenly, hearing the moaning of a dog, the child stopped, looked around him with curiosity, saw nothing, and went on his way.

the cry was repeated, and this time it seemed nearer and more pitiful.

raimond v. had been hunting all day on that side, and thinking that one of the baron’s dogs had fallen into some quagmire, the child set his basket down on the ground, climbed up a large piece of a huge rock which projected some distance over the road, and listened with attention.

the cries of the dog grew fainter, yet sounded more plaintive than before.

the child hesitated no longer. as much to do something which would please his master as to merit a small recompense, he began diligently to search for the poor animal, and soon disappeared among the tall rocks.

the dog seemed sometimes nearer, and sometimes more distant; at last the cries suddenly ceased.

the child had left the path. while he was listening, calling, crying, and whistling, hadji, the bohemian, appeared behind a rock.

thanks to his skill as a juggler, he had imitated the cries of the dog, so as to distract the child from his duty and take him away from his basket. for three days he had been wandering in the midst of this solitude. not daring to appear again at maison-forte, he was expecting every day the arrival of the pirates, who had been instructed by his second message.

knowing that every morning provisions were carried to peyrou, hadji, who had been watching some hours for the purveyor, employed, as we have said, this stratagem to make him abandon his basket.

the bohemian opened the bottle-case carefully provided by the majordomo laramée, took out a large bottle covered with straw, and poured in it a small quantity of a white powder,—a powerful soporific, whose effects had already been felt by the worthy luquin trinquetaille.

the bohemian had lived for two days on the small amount of food he had carried away from maison-forte; but, fearing to excite suspicion, he had the courage not to touch the appetising viands intended for the watchman. he restored the bottle to its place and disappeared.

the child, after having searched for the stray dog in vain, returned, took up his basket, and finally arrived at the summit of the promontory.

master peyrou passed for such a formidable, mysterious being, that his young purveyor did not dare say a word about the cries of the dog; he deposited the basket on the edge of the last stone of the steps, and saying, in a trembling voice, “the good god keep you, master peyrou,” descended as fast as his legs could carry him, holding his cap in both hands.

the watchman smiled at the child’s fear, rose from his seat, went for the basket, and set it down near him. the provisions inside smacked of the christmas festivity.

first, there was a very fine roast turkey, a necessary dish at the solemn feast of christmas; then a cold fish pie, some honey cakes and oil, and a basket of grapes and dried fruit done up in the style of a christmas present; finally, two loaves of white bread with a golden brown crust, and a large bottle, containing at least two pints of the finest burgundy wine from the cellar of raimond v., completed his repast.

the good watchman, lonely philosopher as he was, did not appear insensible to these good things. he entered his house, took his little table, set it before his door, and there placed his preparations for his christmas feast. yet he was saddened by melancholy thoughts.

by the unusual clouds of smoke rising above the town of la ciotat, it could be seen that the inhabitants, rich or poor, were making joyous preparations to unite family and friends at their tables. the watchman sighed as he thought of the exile which he had imposed upon himself. already old, without relatives and family ties, he was liable to die on this rock, in the midst of this imposing solitude.

another cause brought sadness to the heart of peyrou. he had vainly hoped to signal the arrival of the commander’s galley. he knew with what joy raimond v. would have embraced his two brothers, especially at this season, and he also knew that the gloomy sadness of pierre des anbiez found some relief, some consolation in the midst of sweet family happiness and festivity.

and in fact, there was still another reason, not less important, which made the watchman desire most earnestly the return of the commander.

he had been for more than twenty years the guardian of a terrible secret, and of the papers which were connected with it. his retired life and his fidelity, which had endured every test, were sufficient warrants for the security of this secret. but the watchman desired to ask the commander to deliver him from this grave responsibility, and to entrust it henceforth to raimond v.

in fact, peyrou realised that he might at any time die a violent death; his scene with the bohemian proved to what dangers he was exposed in this remote and isolated spot.

all these reasons made him look anxiously for the coming of the black galley, and for the last time, before sitting down to the table, he examined the horizon attentively.

the sun was just beginning to set, and although the watchman descried nothing in the distance, he did not lose all hope of seeing the galley before nightfall, and to be able to signal the galley more readily, he resolved to dine outside.

the sight of a good dinner drove some of the wrinkles from his brow. he began by holding the flagon of burgundy wine to his lips. after having swallowed several draughts, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as he quoted the proven?al proverb, “a tousan tou vin es san,—on all saints’ day all wine is good for the health.”

“raimond v. has not forgotten how to judge,” added he, smiling. then he carved the turkey.

“well, well, for an old man, old wine. i feel my heart already rejoice, and my hopes of seeing the commander’s galley are a good deal brighter.”

at this moment, peyrou heard a rustling in the air; one of the branches of the old pine cracked, and brilliant alighted with a heavy wing on the stone roof of the sentry-box; then from the roof she descended to the ground.

“ah, ah! brilliant,” said the watchman, “you come to get your part of the christmas present, do you? take this!” and he handed her a piece of the turkey, which the eagle refused.

“ah! cruel wretch, you would not disdain that morsel if it was bloody. do you want some of this pie? no? ah! you will not find every day such a treat as the pigeon of that accursed bohemian. never shall i forget the service you rendered me, my courageous bird, although your taste for blood went for much in your fine action. but, no matter, brilliant, no matter; it smells of ingratitude to be looking for the motive of a deed by which we have profited. i ought to have thought of you and given you a fine quarter of mutton for your christmas feast. but to-morrow i will not forget for you, as for a great many men, the treat makes the festivity, and it is not the holy day or saint they glorify.”

master peyrou finished his dinner, sometimes chatting with brilliant, and sometimes embracing the baron’s bottle.

twilight was slowly descending upon the town.

the watchman, wrapping himself in his cloak, lit his pipe, and sat down to contemplate the approach of the beautiful winter night, in a sort of meditative beatitude.

although the night was falling, he again examined the horizon with his telescope, and discovered nothing. turning his head mechanically on the side of maison-forte, with the thought that all hope of seeing the commander arrive was not yet lost, he saw, to his great astonishment, a company of soldiers, commanded by two men on horseback, rapidly marching up the beach toward the house of raimond v.

he seized his telescope, and, in spite of the gathering darkness, recognised the recorder isnard, mounted on his white mule. the recorder was accompanied by a cavalier, whose hausse-col, or metal collar, jacket of buff-skin, and white scarf marked him as a captain of infantry.

“what does that mean?” cried the watchman, recalling with alarm the animosity of master isnard. “are they going to arrest the baron des anbiez by virtue of an order from the marshal of vitry? ah! i have too much reason to fear it, and what i fear more is the resistance of the baron. my god! how is all this going to end? what a sad christmas if things are as i fear!”

greatly disturbed, the watchman stood with his eyes fixed on the shore, although night was now too far advanced to permit him to distinguish any object.

soon the moon rose bright and clear, flooding the rocks, the bay, the shore, and the castle of maison-forte with her brilliant light.

in the distance the city, immersed in fog, showed many a luminous point through the cloudy, vapourous mass, and its sharp-pointed roofs and belfries cut a black silhouette on the pale azure of the sky.

the sea, perfectly calm, was like a peaceful lake, and its soft murmurs were scarcely audible. the waves seemed to sleep. a line of darker blue marked the curve of the horizon.

the watchman looked anxiously at the windows of maison-forte, which were all brilliantly illuminated.

by degrees, his eyelids grew heavy.

attributing the sensation of heaviness in his head to the wine, which he had partaken of in moderation, he began to walk about briskly, but, notwithstanding his persistent efforts, he felt a sort of lassitude stealing through all his limbs. his sight began to grow dim; he was obliged to return and sit down on his bench.

for some minutes he struggled with all his might against this numbness which was gradually taking possession of all his faculties.

finally, although his reason commenced to share this state of general stupor, he had the presence of mind to go in his cabin and plunge his head in a basin of ice-cold water.

this immersion seemed for some moments to restore to him the use of his senses.

“miserable creature i am! what have i done!” cried he. “i have made myself drunk—”

he took a few more steps, but was obliged to sit down again.

the soporific, thwarted in its effect for a moment, redoubled its power over him. leaning back against the wall of his cabin, he retained perception enough to be the witness of a spectacle which overwhelmed him with rage and despair.

two galleys and a chebec appeared at the eastern point of the bay,—a point which he alone was able to discover from the height of cape l’aigle. these vessels were slowly doubling the promontory with the utmost precaution. with one last effort he straightened himself up to his full height, and cried, in a feeble voice, “pirates!” he stumbled as he tried to walk to the pile where were collected all sorts of combustible material ready to be kindled at a moment’s notice. the moment he reached it he fell, deprived of consciousness.

the bohemian, who had been watching his every movement, then appeared just where the foot-path entered the esplanade, and advanced with the greatest circumspection. hiding himself behind the cabin, he listened, and heard only the laboured breathing of the watchman. certain of the effect of his soporific, he approached peyrou, stooped down, and touched his hands and his forehead and found that they were cold.

“the dose is strong,” said he, “perhaps too strong. so much the worse, i did not wish to kill him.”

then advancing to the edge of the precipice, he saw distinctly the three pirate vessels in the distance. moving slowly and cautiously, for fear of being discovered, they made use of oars to reach the entrance of the port, where the bohemian was to join them.

the practised eye of hadji recognised in front of the two galleys certain luminous points or flames, which were nothing else than torches designed to burn the city and the fishing-boats.

“by eblis! they are going to smoke these citizens like foxes in their burrows. it is time, perhaps, for this old man to go to sleep for ever; but we must visit his cabin. i will have time to descend. i will be on the beach soon enough to seize a boat and join captain pog, who expects me before he begins the attack. let us enter; they say the old man hides a treasure here.”

hadji took a brand from the fireplace and lit a lamp.

the first object which met his eye was a trunk or box of sculptured ebony placed near the watchman’s bed.

“that is a costly piece of furniture for such a recluse.”

not finding a key, he took a hatchet, broke open the lock, and opened the two leaves of the door; the shelves were empty.

“it is not natural to lock up nothing with so much precaution; time presses, but this key will open everything.” he took up the hatchet again, and in a moment the ebony case was in pieces.

a double bottom fell apart.

the bohemian uttered a cry of joy as he perceived the little embossed silver casket of which we have spoken, and on which was marked a maltese cross. this casket, which was quite heavy, was fastened no doubt by a secret spring, as neither key nor lock could be discovered.

“i have my fine part of the booty, now let us run to help captain pog in taking his. ah, ah!” added he, with a diabolical laugh, as he beheld the bay and the city wrapped in profound stillness, “soon eblis will shake his wings of fire over that scene. the sky will be in flames, and the waters will run with blood!” then, as a last precaution, he emptied a tunnel of water on the signal pile, and descended in hot haste to join the pirate vessels.