"And," as Mr. Tollemache observed later in the wardroom to a friend, "why give the beggars on shore longer warning of our arrival than we need? They are not blind, I suppose; this little collection can hardly be invisible to the crew in the fort over there, for instance! Land 'em at once, say I!"
The friend drew at his pipe. "Wish we were landing a party too eh, Tollemache?"
"Well, we aren't getting any fun for our money! I confess I would rather like to have a smack at the sans-culottes before we leave. Do you think the fellows we are landing have much of a chance, Carleton?"
"Devilish little, I should say," replied his laconic companion, and knocked out his pipe.
(2)
"Surely it must be a good omen!" thought René de Flavigny that night, where he sat, with the other officers of the regiment to which he was attached—du Dresnay's—in the flat-bottomed boat approaching Carnac beach. For everything to-night—or rather, this morning, since it was two o'clock—was made resplendent by the glorious moon which seemed to be riding the heavens on purpose to welcome these exiles in arms to the land of their birth. Behind the steadily advancing boats the hulls of the English squadron lay almost motionless on the breast of an unrippled sea of argent, in front the wide, pale sands of Carnac stretched like a magic band of silver. Yes, surely it was a good omen!
Oh, if only some day his little son too could come back to the land of his fathers, in no hostile or furtive fashion, but openly, as of right—and if he might be with him too! Or might his own death avail, if need were, to bring Anne there before he grew old! Such was René de Flavigny's prayer in that speaking radiance. And the sight of that shore and the beauty of the night itself made him think also. If only one were not coming with a sword against one's mother! There stole back to him too the remembrance of the day when he had pointed out the oncoming shores of France to Jeannette—a bride—and then of the day when they had left them behind in their flight—the last time she was ever to see them. Yes, when last he had looked on France she had been in his arms, and Anne in hers. . . .
De Flavigny's meditations were suddenly checked. Orders were being shouted; the boats came to a standstill on the silver tide. And, peering forward, René could make out the cause.
Drawn up on the beach in the moonlight was a small body of Republican troops. Their white breeches and facings and cross-belts were clearly visible. Between the shore and the now stationary craft with their load were slipping the flotilla's half-dozen gunboats.
"Oh, why are we not there!" sighed a young officer sitting by the Marquis, bringing his hand sharply down on his knee.