Keeping my oar in motion, lest we should drift backward, I made shift to glance across my shoulder in the direction indicated.  The river had us completely in its grasp, tossing the light boat in a majestic flood of angry water, whitened by foam, and beaten into waves, where it rounded the rocky edge of the island.  Across this tumbling surge streamed the glorious sunlight, gilding each billow into beauty, while in the midst of it, bearing swiftly down toward us, came that strange thing that had so startled Madame.  What in the name of nature it might prove to be, I could not hazard—­it had the appearance of some queer, shaggy animal, rolled tight into the form of a ball, having fur so radiantly red as to flash and burn in the sunshine.  It bobbed crazily about, barely above the surface of the river, like some living creature, while now and then I marked a glimmer of light behind, as if the water was being vigorously churned by some species of swimming apparatus in the monster’s tail.

“Stand by with your small sword, De Noyan,” I commanded uneasily, “for, hang me if I ever before set eyes on such a creature!  Move, quick, and pass me over your oar so you may have both hands free for the onset.”

The beast was being swept along rapidly, now appearing to my eyes somewhat whiter on top, although the surrounding red was so glaringly prominent as to obscure everything else.  Suddenly the creature gave a kick and whirled over, turning the white expanse directly toward us.  At the same moment De Noyan dropped the point of his rapier against the side of the boat, with a loud guffaw.

“May the saints absolve me,” he grinned, choking from merriment, “if it’s not the red-headedest man ever my eyes looked upon.”

Forcing back his laughter, he hailed the swimmer, who, perceiving us for the first time, began sheering off, as if frightened by our presence, and intent upon escape.

“Hold there a moment, Master Red-Cap!  If in truth you are not a fish, come on board.”

The fellow heard him plainly enough, for I distinguished a muttered English exclamation, but he made no pause in urging a peculiar sidestroke of the arms which threatened to bear him past us like a wild thing.

“Hold your hands!” I roared in English, thinking, perhaps, he had not comprehended the other tongue.  “Come in here, sirrah, or, the Lord help you, we ’ll turn and run you down.”

At sound of these words he ceased his efforts, and turned a peculiar wrinkled face, creased like long-folded parchment, and as yellow, directly toward us.  Even at that distance I imagined I could detect a twinkle of delight in the shrewd gray eyes.

“Thy words of greeting are as manna fallen from heaven,” boomed a deep, resonant voice, surprising in its volume.  “I take heart anew, young man, for surely thou art not the spawn of the scarlet woman, but, verily, one of the chosen people of our own God.”