“You have never set foot on the deck of a ship?”
“Never, except on those boats on the Rhone, for I was born in Languedoc, on the highway; my father and mother belonged to a band of Bohemians which came from Spain, and the only recollection that I have of my childhood is the refrain so often sung in our wandering clan:
“‘Cuando me pario Mi madre la gitana.’
“That is all I know of my birth,—all the family papers I have, watchman.”
“The Bohemians of Spain speak Arabic also,” said Peyrou, observing the vagabond attentively.
“They say so. I know no other language than the one I speak,—very badly, as you see.”
“The sun is setting behind those great clouds down there; for one who is fond of that sight you seem to be quite indifferent to it,” answered the watchman, with an ironical air. “No doubt the chebec interests you more.”
“To-morrow evening I can see the sun set; to-day I would rather spend my time in guessing your riddles, watchman.”
During this conversation, the syndic of the overseers had not lost sight of the vessel, which continued to beat about, evidently waiting for a signal.
Although the appearance of this vessel was suspicious, Peyrou hesitated to give the alarm on the coast by kindling the fire. To set the whole seashore in excitement unnecessarily was a dangerous precedent, because some other time, in case of real danger, the signal might be taken for a false alarm.