“And what kind of things do they say, Aunt Jeanne?”

“Oh, all kinds of things.  He’s making a fine streak of fat—­”

“So much the better for him.”

“Maybe!  But, mon dou, when a man gets along too quickly, the others will talk, you know.  They say he has the devil’s own luck in all he undertakes.  He has three of the fastest chasse-marees in the Islands, and they say he’s never lost a cargo yet.  And they say he has dealings with the devil and Bonaparte and all the big merchants in Havre and Cherbourg.  But of late he’s gone in for privateering, and the streak’s growing a fat one, I can tell you.  He’s got the finest schooner in these waters, and, ma fe, broth and soup are both alike to him, I trow!  Oh yes, he can see through a fog, can Monsieur Torode.”

“And what does Peter Port say to it all?”

“Pergui!  Peter Port didn’t like having its bread taken out of its mouth,—­not that it’s bread contents Monsieur Torode, not by a very long way.  Fine doings there are on Herm, they say, when they’re all at home there.  But he’s too big and bold a man to interfere with.  He pays for the island, they say, and a good price too.  Some say he’s a wealthy emigre turning his talents to account.  For myself—­” and the black sun-bonnet nodded knowingly.

“You don’t care for him over much, Aunt Jeanne?” and I felt unreasonably glad that it was so.

“Ma fe, I’ve never set eyes on the man and never wish to!  But such luck is not too natural, you understand.  The devil’s flour has a way of turning to bran, and what comes with the flood goes out with the ebb sometimes.”

“All the same you invite the young one here.”

“The door of Beaumanoir is wide to-night, and everyone who chooses to come is welcome.  Though I wouldn’t say but what some are more welcome than others....  Brecqhou and Herm have dealings together, you understand,” she murmured presently.  “That is how this youngster finds himself here—­Bernel, they call him.  The old one is much away and the young one does his business hereabouts.  And see the airs he puts on!  One would think the Island belonged to him, and he hasn’t had the grace to come and say how d’ye do to me yet.  For myself—­”

“For yourself, Aunt Jeanne?”

“Eh b’en!” with a twinkle.  “One likes one’s own calves best, oui gia!” and I felt like kissing the little old brown hand.

Young Torode had joined the others, and was laughing and joking with the girls, though it seemed to me that the men received him somewhat coldly.  Then some remark among them directed his attention to Jeanne Falla and myself in the corner behind the dresser, and he came over at once.

“Pardon, Mistress Falla!” he said,—­I think I have said before that Aunt Jeanne was more generally called by her maiden name of Falla than by her married one of Le Marchant, and she preferred it so,—­“I was wondering where you were.  You have given us a most charming surprise,”—­with a nod towards the flower-decked green-bed.  “But why is the goddess condemned to silence?”