“L'Aigle Noir, Monsieur, and my name is Armand Le Mescam.”
“I have heard her name mentioned by our master,” said the Marine officer, with a smile. “He has had the honour of serving in many engagements against your country's ships in these seas, in which our ships have not always secured a victory.”
The Frenchman bowed and smiled, and then, feeling no doubt that he could do so with safety to himself, and that even if the cause of his presence on the island were known to the Tritons people that he would suffer no molestation, invited Channing to walk to his house and take a glass of wine.
“Ah!” said Channing, with a laugh; “then you have got wine as well as money from the wreck of L' Aigle Noir.”
The Frenchman's face darkened, and he stopped short.
“You know then, Monsieur, the reason of my remaining on this island?”
“I have heard,” answered Channing frankly; and then, noticing the agitation expressed on the Frenchman's face, he added, “but that does not concern me, nor indeed any one else on board the Triton—not now, at any rate, since France and England are at peace.”
Monsieur Le Mescam seemed greatly relieved at hearing this, and in another minute, chatting gaily to his visitor, led the way into his house. The building was but little better than an ordinary native dwelling, but it was furnished with rude couches and seats made from the wreckage of the privateer, and scattered about were many articles, such as weapons, crockery, cooking utensils, clothing, &c. Two or three native servants, who were lounging about, at once presented themselves to their master, and one of them, bringing a small keg, filled two silver cups with wine, and Channing and his host, bowing politely to each other, drank.
For some little time the two men conversed pleasantly, and then the Frenchman, who so far had avoided all allusion to the treasure, offered to conduct his guest a part of the way back to the native village. That he had not presented Channing to his wife did not surprise the latter, who imagined that she could scarcely be clothed in a befitting manner to meet a stranger, and he therefore did not even let his host know that he was aware of his wife being with him on the island.
Drinking a parting cup of wine together, the two men set out, the Frenchman leading the way past a number of sheds built of bamboos, and covered with atap thatch. As they reached the last of these buildings, which stood almost at the water's edge, they came upon a woman who was sitting, with her back turned to them, under the shade of the overhanging thatched eaves, nursing a child.