“Do you know the Irish coast?” he asked.
“No,” shouted Landais, excitedly, “but I was willing—I and my brave officers—to risk it.”
“But I was not willing to risk a ship under my command, with a captain who is entirely ignorant of this coast, the most dangerous one I know,” replied Paul Jones.
All this time De Chamillard and Weibert sat amazed spectators of the scene. Paul Jones’s swarthy skin had turned a shade darker. A kind of lambent flame shone in his dark, inscrutable eyes. He strongly suspected a taint of madness in the infuriated man before him, and was careful not to exasperate him unnecessarily. Landais continued translating his insubordinate language into French, and looking at De Chamillard. But the French marine officer looked steadily away, blushing for the language of his superior. Again Landais burst out violently:
“But you lost your boats through the folly of attacking with them.”
“It is an untruth,” answered Paul Jones, rising. His manner was still composed, but his eyes were blazing.
“Do you hear that, gentlemen?” shouted Landais furiously, in French; and turning to De Chamillard, “He has given me the lie direct.”
Paul Jones then said coolly, “M. de Landais, your boat is ready.”
The words were calm, but even the half-mad Landais was recalled to his senses by them. Paul Jones fixed his dark eyes on him. Slowly, yet inevitably, the expression of Landais’s face changed, he sank into a sullen silence, and then abruptly walked out of the cabin.
Paul Jones turned to De Chamillard and Weibert in deep agitation.