“You are mistaken. I am the guest of Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez,” said the Bohemian, with emphasis.
“Is the venomous scorpion, too, the guest of the house he inhabits?” replied Peyrou, looking steadily in his eyes.
The eyes of the vagabond kindled, and, by a muscular contraction of his cheeks, Peyrou saw that he was gnashing his teeth; nevertheless, he replied to Peyrou, with affected calmness:
“I do not deserve your reproaches, watchman. Raimond V. took pily on a poor wanderer, and offered me the hospitality of his roof—”
“And to prove your gratitude to him, you wish to bring sorrow and ruin upon that roof.”
“I?”
“Yes, you,—you are in communication with that chebec down there, beating about the horizon.”
The Bohemian looked at the vessel with the most indifferent air in the world, and replied:
“On my life, I have never set foot on a ship; as to the communication which you suppose I have with that boat, that you call a chebec, I believe,—I doubt if my voice or my signal could reach it.”
The watchman threw a penetrating glance on the Bohemian, and said to him: