"Then we may talk plainly as two gentlemen."
"Assuredly."
"I do not trust that vicomte of yours—a far-away cousin of my mother, I regret to say."
"Nor would I trust him. He wished the town illuminated on account of the king's death."
"It seems incredible. Poor Louis! But now, to our business. Any hour may bring a British cruiser. This cargo is worth in peace twenty thousand dollars. Now it is worth thirty-two thousand,—salt beef, potatoes, pork, onions, salt fish, and some forty casks of Madeira. Ordinarily we should take home coffee and sugar, but now it is to be paid for in louis d'or or in gold joes, here—here on board, monsieur."
"But the cargo?"
"The sea is quiet. When the money is on deck, we will run in nearer, and you must lighter the cargo out. I will give you one day, and only one. There is no other way. We are well armed, as you see, and will stand no Jacobin tricks. Tell the vicomte Sans Culottes I am his cousin, De Courval. Stay, I shall write a note. It is to take on my terms, and at once, or to refuse."
"He will take it. Money is plenty; but one cannot eat louis d'ors. How long do you give us?"
"Two hours to go and return; and, monsieur, I am trusting you."