The door of the inn meanwhile had opened, and Delarousse appeared, holding aloft a musket, to which a white cloth was attached as a flag of truce.
"I vill speak viz you," he said, pointing to the Squire, whom he recognised.
"Shall I parley with the rascal?" asked the Squire of Mr. Carlyon.
"Yes. We wish to avoid bloodshed, but it must be unconditional surrender, Trevanion."
The Squire stepped towards the inn, meeting Delarousse half-way.
"You speak French, monsieur?" said the latter courteously.
"Not a word, sir," replied the Squire.
"Ah! C'est dommage! I speak English, bad, monsieur. I make a meestake: I demand pardon. I not know ze house vas to you; pardon ze meestake, monsieur."
"We'll say no more about that, sir," said the Squire. "I am willing to believe you had no wish to attack me. But this is an act of war, sir. You must at once set your prisoner free, and surrender, every one of you."
"Ah, no, monsieur," returned the Frenchman with a smile. "I haf to say your demand is ridicule. I make vun sign: bah! ze shot from my vessel zey strike ze village all to pieces. Voyez! Ze boats come now for me. You stop me? No."