"Anger," whispered the doctor to the canon, advancing to meet the old corsair, who, notwithstanding his great age, was still hale and vigorous.
"Long live the railroads! for I come this instant from Havre, my old comrade, to assist at the anniversary of your birthday," said Yvon, cordially grasping the doctor's hands, "and to come here I have left Sabine, Sabinon, and Sabinette,—names that the old centenarian, Segoffin, my head artilleryman, has given to my granddaughter and great-granddaughter, for I am a great-grandfather, you know."
"Zounds! old comrade, and I hope you will not stop at that!"
"And so my son-in-law, Onésime, whom you ushered into life thirty years ago, charged me to remember him to you. And here I am!"
"Could you fail to be at our annual reunions, Yvon, my brave comrade, I should have one of those magnificent attacks of anger which used to possess you."
Then turning to the canon and the abbé, the doctor presented Yvon, saying:
"This is Captain Cloarek, one of our oldest and most illustrious corsairs, the famous hero of the brig Hellhound, which played wonderful tricks at the end of the Empire."
"Ah, captain," said the canon, "in 1812 I was at Gibraltar, and I had the honour of often hearing you and your ship cursed by the English."
"And do you know, my dear canon, to what admirable sin Captain Cloarek owes his glory, and the services he rendered to France in the victorious cruises he made against the English? I am going to tell you, and my old friend will not contradict me. Glory, success, riches,—he owes all to anger."
"To anger?" exclaimed the abbé.