"Madame," she said, "surely God put this into your heart to save us all. I will come with you, and Johnnie will come, and good John Hull withal, and so we may escape and live."
The old Frenchwoman patted the slim girl upon the back. "Bien, chérie," she said, "that's a thing done. I will look after you and be a mother to you, and so we will all be happy."
Commendone and his servant looked on in amazement. At this dreadful hour, in this moment of extremest peril, the wicked old woman seemed to take charge of them all. She did not seem wicked now, only genial and competent, though there was a tremor of fear in her voice and her movements were hurried and decisive.
"Jean-Marie," she called suddenly, and then, "Phut! I forgot. It is under the cushions. Well, we must even do without a messenger. Have you money, Master Commendone?"
Johnnie shook his head. "Not here."
"Mais, mon Dieu! I have a plenty," she answered, "which is good for all of us. Wait you here."
She hurried away, and went up the stair towards the rooms above.
"Shall I follow her, master?" Hull said, his hand upon his dagger.
Johnnie shook his head.
"No," he answered, "she is in our boat. She must sink or swim with us."