“François? Yes, I knew him,” he replied.
“Is he at all like this fisherman?” asked the general.
The fellow turned his gaze on me with an expression of stolid indifference. Regarding me steadfastly for a full minute, I saw his eyes brighten and gleam with an expression of fiendish malice; he approached me so closely that his hot breath fell full upon my cheek, his eyes glaring into mine like those of a tiger when he scents blood; then, turning to the general, he replied,—
“No, monsieur le général. This is the young naval officer who conveyed the despatches to Count Lorenzo di Paoli, and who, it is believed, stole the ‘Mouette’ on the night when the count’s chateau was attacked; afterwards leading the ‘Vigilant’ into an ambush whereby she was captured.”
“Are you certain?” inquired the general.
“Quite certain,” replied the Corsican. “It was I who watched him land from the frigate, and afterwards discovered his lurking-place in the woodman’s hut. And I also saw him frequently, after his escape from the troops, in the chateau of Count Lorenzo.”
“That is sufficient,” replied the general. Then, turning to me, he remarked sarcastically,—
“If you have anything to say in refutation of this man’s statement, say it. But no, I see you have not. It is well, sir. You have chosen to enter this town in disguise and with a false story; the inference is plain. You are a spy; and as such you will be shot at daybreak to-morrow morning.”
“Take him away,” he continued, turning to Lieutenant Saint Croix; “confine him securely in the tower; and you, Guiseppe, take charge of him; I can spare none of my own men to play the part of gaoler. And remember, I shall hold you responsible for his safety!”
“I will answer for it with my own life,” exultingly exclaimed the scoundrel, as he roughly seized me by the collar and led me away.