Whereupon the Marquis smiled; but, considering the circumstances, in his own mind excused the commandant, who had only just come from the Governor's palace, and who, after the interview that undoubtedly had ensued, could hardly be expected to find the pâté palatable, or the wine to his liking. This, despite the complaisance of the young nobleman whom the commandant had encountered, while descending from the Governor's abode, and who, adapting his step to the other's had accompanied the officer back to his quarters, and graciously accepted an invitation to enter.
"Well, you know the old saying," the Marquis closed the box with a snap, "'There's many a slip'—but how," airily brushing with his handkerchief imaginary particles from a long lace cuff, "did he get away?"
"He had got away before we were down on the beach. It was a wild-goose chase, at best. And so I told his Excellency, the Governor—"
"A thankless task, no doubt! But the shots we heard—"
"An imbecile soldier saw a shadow; fired at it, and—"
"The others followed suit?" laughed the visitor.
"Exactly!" The commandant's face grew red; fiercely he pulled at his mustache. "What can one expect, when they make soldiers out of every dunderpate that comes along?"
"True!" assented the Marquis. "But this fellow, this Black Seigneur—why is the Governor so anxious to lay hands on him? Who is he, and what has he done? I confess," languidly, "to a mild curiosity."
"He's a privateersman and an outlaw, and has done enough to hang himself a dozen times—"
"When you capture him!" interposed the visitor lightly. A moment he studied the massive oak beams of the ceiling. "Why do they call him the Black Seigneur? An odd sobriquet!"