“Of seven deserters and five soldiers.”

“A dozen,” said the maire, rubbing his chin.  “I fear I shall have to ask some of my fellow townsmen to share in billeting you.”

“It is not to be heard of,” I said, guessing that he wished to distribute the expense.

Not that I should have had any objection to that; but that it was necessary to the design I had suddenly conceived that we should be all together.

“It will not be safe,” I continued.  “The deserters are desperate fellows, and will need careful guarding.  Besides, I have had the good luck to capture some English prisoners who had escaped, and they are too precious to be allowed out of my sight.  My men must take turns at watching during the night; if there were an outbreak, it would not easily be quelled if we were separated.”

The maire had pricked up his ears at the mention of the prisoners.

“Prisoners, monsieur!” he exclaimed.  “You said nothing of them.  We have heard about them, and there is a reward offered for their capture.  If monsieur would deign to give us part of the reward—­”

“We will talk of that again, monsieur,” I said.  “I am in haste to get to Cherbourg with the deserters; I can trust you, no doubt, to guard the prisoners well until an escort can be sent for them from St. Malo.  In consideration of that, no doubt—­”

I broke off expressively, and the maire doubtless regarded his share of the reward as secure, for he raised no more objections.  He accompanied me to the door, looked contemptuously at my comrades (who were in a great state of anxiety, I can assure you, knowing nothing of what I had in mind), and then went on to the wagon where the supposed deserters were lying.  On seeing him the captain started up and with many contortions struggled to speak.

“Why are they gagged, monsieur?” asked the maire.

I repeated the explanation I had already given.

“Terrible!” said the maire, and the captain grew purple in the face.

“You perceive I could not allow my men’s ears to be defiled by the language of such a ruffian,” I remarked.

“Perfectly, monsieur.  Ah, scilerat!” he cried, shaking his fist at the infuriate officer, and pouring out upon him a torrent of loyal abuse which I find it impossible to translate.

Then he turned to the bosun, and asked him how he had come by his wound.  The bosun was quick-witted enough to take my cue, and, pointing to the captain, whose reputation as the most violent of the deserters was clearly established, he made through his bandages a series of grunts and roars which proved to the maire’s satisfaction that his jaw was very seriously damaged.  And last of all inspecting my comrades, who stood aside with trouble in their faces, he bestowed on them sundry offensive epithets which I was thankful they did not understand, for otherwise I am sure they would have forgotten their part and endangered everything by administering a castigation.