“Could I be here, if I had not used a stratagem?  Evidently not.  And yet I had the most powerful interest in boarding ‘The Saint Louis’ before she should enter port; therefore I did not hesitate.”

He drew from his pocket a sheet of paper, simply folded twice, and said,—­

“Here is my apology, Lieut.  Champcey; see if it is sufficient.”

Utterly amazed, the young officer read,—­

“I am saved, Daniel; and I owe my life to the man who will hand you this.  I shall owe to him the pleasure of seeing you again.  Confide in him as you would in your best and most devoted friend; and, I beseech you, do not hesitate to follow his advice literally.

“Henrietta.”

Daniel turned deadly pale, and tottered.  This unexpected, intense happiness overcame him.

“Then—­it is true—­she is alive?” he stammered.

“She is at my sister’s house, safe from all danger.”

“And you, sir, you have rescued her?”

“I did!”

Prompt like thought, Daniel seized the man’s hands, and, pressing them vehemently, exclaimed with a penetrating voice,—­

“Never, sir, never, whatever may happen, can I thank you enough.  But remember, I pray you, under all circumstances, and for all times, you can count upon Lieut.  Champcey.”

A strange smile played on the man’s lips; and, shaking his head, he said, “I shall before long remind you of your promise, lieutenant.”

Standing between the two men, the captain of “The Saint Louis” was looking alternately at the one and the other with an astonished air, listening without comprehending, and imagining marvellous things.  The only point he understood was this, that his presence was, to say the least, not useful.

“If that is so,” he said to Daniel, “we cannot blame this gentleman for the ugly trick he has played us.”

“Blame him?  Oh, certainly not!”

“Then I’ll leave you.  I believe I have treated the sailor who brought him on board a little roughly; but I am going to order him a glass of brandy, which will set him right again.”

Thereupon the captain discreetly withdrew; while Papa Ravinet continued,—­

“You will tell me, M. Champcey, that it would have been simpler to wait for you in port, and hand you my letter of introduction there.  That would have been grievous imprudence.  If I heard at the navy department of your arrival, others may have learned it as well.  As soon, therefore, as ‘The Saint Louis’ was telegraphed in town, you may be sure a spy was sent to the wharf, who is going to follow you, never losing sight of you, and who will report all your goings and your doings.”

“What does it matter?”

“Ah! do not say so, sir!  If our enemies hear of our meeting, you see, if they only find out that we have conversed together, all is lost.  They would see the danger that threatens them, and they would escape.”