to distinguish their enemies.  Ithuel, who had a waggery of his own, smiled as he saw the seamen folding their arms, throwing discontent and surliness into their countenances, and pacing the deck singly, as if misanthropical and disdaining to converse, whenever a boat came alongside from the shore.  Several of these visitors arrived in the course of the two hours mentioned; but the sentinel at the gangway, who had his orders, repulsed every attempt to come on board, pretending not to understand French when permission was asked in that language.

Raoul had a boat’s crew of four, all of whom had acquired the English, like himself, in a prison-ship, and with these men he now prepared to land; for, as yet, he had made little progress in the business which brought him into his present awkward predicament, and he was not a man to abandon an object so dear to him, lightly.  Finding himself in a dilemma, he was resolved to make an effort to reap, if possible, some advantage from his critical situation.  Accordingly, after he had taken his coffee and given his orders, the boat’s crew was called, and he left the lugger’s side.  All this was done tranquilly, as if the appearance of the stranger in the offing gave no trouble to any in le Feu-Follet.

On this occasion the boat pulled boldly into the little harbor, its officer touching the shore at the common landing.  Nor were the men in any haste to return.  They lounged about the quay, in waiting for their captain, cheapening fruits, chatting with the women in such Italian as they could muster, and affecting to understand the French of the old sea-dogs that drew near them, all of whom knew more or less of that universal language, with difficulty.  That they were the objects of suspicion, their captain had sufficiently warned them, and practice rendered them all good actors.  The time they remained in waiting for Raoul was consequently spent in eluding attempts to induce them to betray themselves, and in caricaturing Englishmen.  Two of the four folded their arms, endeavored to look surly, and paced the quay in silence, refusing even to unbend to the blandishments of the gentler sex, three or four of whom endeavored to insinuate themselves into their confidence by offerings of fruit and flowers.

“Amico,” said Annunziate, one of the prettiest girls of her class in Porto Ferrajo, and who had been expressly employed by Vito Viti to perform this office, “here are figs from the main land.  Will you please to eat a few, that when you go back to Inghilterra you may tell your countrymen how we poor Elbans live?”

“Bad fig”—­sputtered Jacques, Raoul’s cockswain, to whom this offering was made, and speaking in broken English; “better at ’ome.  Pick up better in ze street of Portsmout’!”

“But, Signore, you need not look as if they would hurt you, or bite you; you can eat them and, take my word for it, you will find them as pleasant as the melons of Napoli!”