"Then, I shall have my castle tomorrow?"
"At sunrise I promised it."
"Thanks; and now, if you will help me——"
"Certainly; hold on."
And the demon, seizing the tail of the horse on which the pirate was mounted, whirled the animal round his head, and then hurled it into space. The pirate, slightly stunned by the rapidity of his flight, fell without the slightest injury at the entrance of his tent; he immediately dismounted, and prepared for bed.
His boatswain's mate was waiting to help him in taking off his harness. The Count threw himself anxiously on his couch, but though he might close his eyes and turn and roll in every direction, sleep shunned him. The mate, who was lying in the doorway of the tent, was also awake, but through another motive; he fancied he saw strange lights running along the rock; he heard the sound of hammers and crowbars, stone being sawn, and the creaking of pullies—in a word, those thousand rumours produced by masons, carpenters, and blacksmiths, when at work.
The poor sailor, not knowing to what he should attribute what he fancied he saw and heard, rubbed his eyes to assure himself that he was not asleep, and then thrust his fingers in his ears—fearing, for good reasons, that it must all be an illusion. At length, unable to doubt any longer, he resolved to inform his Captain, and entered his tent.
As we have said, the Count was not asleep. He rose in haste, and followed his boatswain's mate; then, as he placed the utmost confidence in this worthy man, who had served him for twenty years, he did not hesitate to tell him what had passed between him and the devil, and what he had himself promised, adding, in the most insinuating tone he could assume, that he counted on the mate's attachment to prevent his daughter entering the tent the next morning, as she was accustomed to do, and to find some means of getting him out of the scrape.
On hearing this avowal, and the proof of confidence that accompanied it, the boatswain's mate became anxious; he was very fond of his Chief, for he had risked his life twenty times for him; but the worthy sailor was a Breton and excellent Christian, and was not at all desirous of placing himself under the claws of Messire Satanas for an affair that did not at all concern him. Still, after a few moments' reflection, his face brightened and reassumed its ordinary look of careless gaiety, and he said with a laugh:
"Go and sleep, my Lord; tomorrow it will be day. After all, the demon may not be so crafty as he looks."