The two young men, gazed silently at each other, and with mirth in their eyes.
“The sea doesn’t respect kings,” said Saint Simon merrily.
“Nor anybody else,” replied Denis; “so don’t let us holloa till we are out of the wood.”
“You mean across the water.”
“Yes,” said Denis. “It may be our turn next. I wish we were over in England now.”
“What, are you afraid?” cried Saint Simon.
“Yes—for my poor horse. I’m afraid of his breaking away. Look how he is straining at his halter, and how rough his coat is. It looked like satin yesterday. If he broke loose what should we do?”
“Try to tie him up again,” said Saint Simon bluntly. “But if one gets loose the others will follow, and then—”
He stopped short and spread his legs as wide as he could, for the vessel was beginning to dance in the chopping sea.
“Well, and what then?” cried Denis.