For some few moments Carew sat on the opposite bunk, watching the sailor's face musingly. Then, rising, he addressed him in French. "I will fetch you a glass of rum. It will do you good."
"I thank you much, sir," said the man, in the same language; "I should like it, for I still feel very faint."
He drank a rather large dose of the spirit, and under its influence the colour quickly returned to his cheek, and the scared look left his face.
"You can now go into the forecastle and wash yourself," said Carew. "You will find a jersey and a coat hanging up there; put them on." These had belonged to the drowned sailor, Jim.
When the Frenchman returned to the cabin cleansed of bloodstains and decently clothed, the solicitor was surprised to see what a respectable-looking fellow he was. He might well have been a gentleman from his appearance, and his hands, though brown and roughened by work, were small and finely shaped.
"How do you feel now?"
"Thanks to you, sir, I am now quite myself again."
After a pause, Carew said, with a smile, "I never before saw such abject terror in a man's face as there was in yours when you were running down the quay."
"That bloodthirsty canaille was enough to inspire terror. Ah, if I could but get hold of that man who hit me with the stick! It was horrible, to run down all those streets for life with that yelping pack after me. I had no chance with them, though I am a good runner; for so soon as the brutes wearied and lagged behind, fresh ones joined the crowd at every corner. Ah, monsieur, I think you would have exhibited as much terror yourself."
"Not quite as much, I think," said Carew quietly.