“Well, my good friends,” said the king, going towards Blancard and Langlade until he felt the waves wet his feet “the moment is come, is it not?  The wind is favourable, the sea calm, we must get to sea.”

“Yes,” answered Langlade, “yes, we must start; and yet perhaps it would be wiser to wait till to-morrow.”

“Why?” asked Murat.

Langlade did not answer, but turning towards the west, he raised his hand, and according to the habit of sailors, he whistled to call the wind.

“That’s no good,” said Donadieu, who had remained in the boat.  “Here are the first gusts; you will have more than you know what to do with in a minute....  Take care, Langlade, take care!  Sometimes in calling the wind you wake up a storm.”

Murat started, for he thought that this warning which rose from the sea had been given him by the spirit of the waters; but the impression was a passing one, and he recovered himself in a moment.

“All the better,” he said; “the more wind we have, the faster we shall go.”

“Yes,” answered Langlade, “but God knows where it will take us if it goes on shifting like this.”

“Don’t start to-night, sire,” said Blancard, adding his voice to those of his two companions.

“But why not?”

“You see that bank of black cloud there, don’t you?  Well, at sunset it was hardly visible, now it covers a good part of the sky, in an hour there won’t be a star to be seen.”

“Are you afraid?” asked Murat.

“Afraid!” answered Langlade.  “Of what?  Of the storm?  I might as well ask if your Majesty is afraid of a cannon-ball.  We have demurred solely on your account, sire; do you think seadogs like ourselves would delay on account of the storm?”

“Then let us go!” cried Murat, with a sigh.

“Good-bye, Marouin....  God alone can reward you for what you have done for me.  I am at your orders, gentlemen.”

At these words the two sailors seized the king end hoisted him on to their shoulders, and carried him into the sea; in another moment he was on board.  Langlade and Blancard sprang in behind him.  Donadieu remained at the helm, the two other officers undertook the management of the boat, and began their work by unfurling the sails.  Immediately the pinnace seemed to rouse herself like a horse at touch of the spur; the sailors cast a careless glance back, and Murat feeling that they were sailing away, turned towards his host and called for a last time—­

“You have your route as far as Trieste.  Do not forget my wife!...  Good-bye-good-bye——!”

“God keep you, sire!” murmured Marouin.

And for some time, thanks to the white sail which gleamed through the darkness, he could follow with his eyes the boat which was rapidly disappearing; at last it vanished altogether.  Marouin lingered on the shore, though he could see nothing; then he heard a cry, made faint by the distance; it was Murat’s last adieu to France.