"With what a serious air you bid me farewell, Honorat," cried the young girl, struck with the chevalier's solemn expression. "But there is no danger, they will not attack the pirates; what good can be done by remaining here?"

"No, doubtless they will not fight," said Honorat, with embarra.s.sment "The commander only wishes to a.s.sure the departure of these wretches."

Pierre des Anbiez, having given his orders, approached Reine and took her by the hand, as he said: "Come, hasten, my child; embark at once, the sun is sinking. Luquin Trinquetaille will take you on board his polacre, and before to-morrow morning you will be in the arms of your father."

Then addressing the captain of the _Holy Terror to the Moors_, who was darting furious glances at the Bohemian because this vagabond never took his eyes from Stephanette, and affected to speak to her in a low voice, the commander said: "With your life you will answer for Mlle, des Anbiez. Depart this instant. Conduct her to Maison-Forte with the other young girls and her attendant. The men will remain and reinforce the crew of my galley. Come, farewell, Reine, embrace me, my child; say to my brothers that I hope to take them by the hand to-morrow."

"You hope, uncle,--pray, what danger is there?"

"The sun is setting, embark at once," said the commander, without replying to the question of his niece, as he led her to the boat which was to conduct her to the polacre.

While Reine exchanged a last look with Honorat, the Bohemian, still insolent and satirical, approached Luquin, holding Stephanette's hand in spite of her resistance, and said to him: "I give you this pretty girl, my boy; marry her in all confidence. Alas! my poor little thing, I must resign you. I will remember all your tenderness."

"What! my tenderness!" cried Stephanette, indignant.

"It is true we agreed to say nothing about it before this cormorant."

"Luquin, to your boat!" cried the commander, in an imperious voice.

The worthy captain was compelled to swallow this new insult, and to descend in haste to his boat in order to receive there Mlle. des Anbiez.

Five minutes after the polacre, commanded by Luquin, set sail for Maison-Forte, bearing Reine, Stephanette, and two other young girls so miraculously saved from the fate which threatened them.

When the polacre had departed, the Bohemian approached the commander respectfully, and said:

"Pog-Reis has kept his word, monseigneur."

"I will keep mine. Go, wait for me in your longboat."

The Bohemian bowed and left the galley.

Pierre des Anbiez said to the Chevalier de Blinville, who was to command the galley in his absence:

"The hour-gla.s.s is full; in a half-hour, if I do not return on board, you are to enter the bay and attack the pirates according to the orders which I have given to you; the black galley will fight the _Red Galleon_, and the boat will fight the other vessel."

"Shall we begin the attack without waiting for you, M. Commander?"

repeated the lieutenant, thinking he had not understood the instructions.

"You will begin the attack without waiting for me, if I do not return in a half-hour," replied the commander, in a firm voice. One of his men brought to him his hat and large black mantle, on which was quartered the white cross of his order. He then left the galley, followed by Honorat, to the great astonishment of the chevaliers and the crew.

Hadji stood at the helm of the little boat; four Moorish slaves took the oars, and soon the light craft bounded over the swelling waves in the direction of the western point of the bay.

Pierre des Anbiez, wrapped in his mantle, turned his head and threw a last lingering look upon his galley, as if to a.s.sure himself of the reality of the events which were taking place. He felt himself dragged, so to speak, by an irresistible force to which he submitted in blind obedience.

After some moments of silence, he said to Hadji: "Where does that man expect me?"

"On the beach, near the ruins of the Abbey of St. Victor, monseigneur."

"Make your crew row faster, they do not advance," said Pierre des Anbiez, with feverish impatience.

"The waves are high, the cloud is gathering, and the wind is going to blow; the night will be bad," said Hadji, in a low voice.

The commander, absorbed in his own thoughts, did not reply to him. The sun's last rays were soon obscured by a large belt of black clouds, which, at first heavy and motionless upon the horizon, began to move with frightful rapidity. Deep and distant bursts of thunder, a phenomenon quite common during the winter season of Provence, announced one of those sudden hurricanes so frequent in the Mediterranean.

CHAPTER XLI. THE COMBAT

The clouds piled high in the west, spread rapidly over the sky which had been so serene. The increasing murmur of the waves, the plaintive moan of the wind, which was gradually rising, the distant rolling of the thunder, all announced a terrible storm.

The little boat reached the sh.o.r.e, a lonely beach girded by blocks of reddish granite. The commander and Honorat landed, when Hadji, who had preceded them a few steps, stopped and said to Pierre des Anbiez, "Monseigneur, follow this path hollowed out of the rock, and you will soon arrive at the ruins of the Abbey of St. Victor. Pog-Reis awaits you there."

Without replying to Hadji, Pierre des Anbiez resolutely entered a sort of creva.s.se formed by a rent in the rock, and scarcely large enough for a man to pa.s.s through.

Honorat, not less courageous, followed him, reflecting at the same time that a traitor, placed on the crest of the two rocks between which they rather glided than walked, could easily crush them by rolling upon them some one of the enormous stones which crowned the escarpment. The tempest was gradually approaching. The loud voices of the wind and the sea, which threatened more and more, at last burst forth into fury, and were answered from the height of the clouds by the thunderbolts. The elements had entered upon a tremendous struggle.

The commander walked with long strides. In the violence of the storm he saw an omen; it seemed to him that the vengeance of Heaven clothed itself in a terrible majesty before striking him.

The more he reflected, the more the strange dream related by the Bohemian appeared to him a manifestation of the divine will.

By one of the ordinary phenomena of thought, Pierre des Anbiez in one second recalled every detail of b.l.o.o.d.y tragedy which was the consequence of his love for the wife of Count de Montreuil, the birth of his unfortunate child, the death of Emilie, and the murder of her husband.

All of these events came back to his mind with awful precision, as if the crime had been committed the day before.

The narrow pa.s.sage which wound across the rocks enlarged somewhat, and the commander and Honorat issued from this granite wall, and found themselves opposite the ruins of the Abbey of St. Victor. In this spot they beheld no one.

The interior basin of the bay formed a deep cove. At the south it was shut in by the rocks through which they had just pa.s.sed; at the north and at the west, by the half-destroyed buildings of the abbey; at the east could be seen the road in which the two galleys of the pirates were anch.o.r.ed.

The imposing pile of the abbey ruins, the wreck of vaults and heavy arches, the crumbling towers covered with ivy, outlined their sad, gray forms upon the black clouds which hung lower and lower over the solemn scene.

A wan, bleak day, which was neither light nor darkness, threw a strange and weird radiance over the rocks, the ruins, the beach, and the sea.

The waves roared, the wind howled, the thunder rolled, yet no person appeared.

Honorat, in spite of his courage, was struck with the awful and dismal scene which lay around him. The commander, wrapped in his long black mantle, his form erect, his face anxious and gloomy, seemed to evoke evil spirits.

In a deep, sepulchral voice, he called three times: "Pog-Reis!

Pog-Reis! Pog-Reis!" No answer was heard.

An enormous owl uttered a doleful cry as it flew slowly and heavily from a vault, as ma.s.sive as the arch of a bridge, which had once been the entrance to the cloister.

"n.o.body comes," said Honorat. "Do you not fear an ambuscade, M.

Commander? Perhaps you have placed too much confidence in the words of these wretches."

"Divine vengeance a.s.sumes all forms," replied Pierre des Anbiez.

He then relapsed into silence, gazing abstractedly at the heavy arcade, which formerly served as an entrance to the cloister, and whose interior was now enveloped in dense shadow.

Suddenly a pale winter ray threw its wan light over this arch, casting a livid, fantastic illumination over the solemn scene.