It was the lantern of a French sloop anchored close to the shore.  The crew had heard the sailors’ voices.  At sight of it David and Jack cheered so lustily that Talboys crawled out of the water and glared vaguely.  The sailors pulled under the sloop’s lee quarter:  a couple of ropes were instantly lowered, the lantern held aloft, ruby heads and hands clustered at the gangway, and in another minute the boat’s party were all upon deck, under a hailstorm of French, and the boat fast to her stern.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE skipper of the ship, hearing a commotion on deck, came up, and, taking off his cap, made Lucy a bow in a style remote from an English sailor’s.  She courtesied to him, and, to his surprise, addressed him in Parisian French.  When he learned she was from England, and had rounded that point in an open boat, he was astonished.

“Diables d’Anglais!” said he.

The good-natured Frenchman insisted on Lucy taking sole possession of his cabin, in which was a cheerful stove.  His crew were just as kind to David, Jack, and Talboys.  This latter now resumed his right place—­at the head of mankind; being the only one who could talk French, he interpreted for his companions.  He improved upon my narrative in one particular:  he led the Frenchmen to suppose it was he who had sailed the boat from England, and weathered the point.  Who can blame him?

Dry clothes were found them, and grog and beef.

While employed on the victuals, a little Anglo-Frank, aged ten, suddenly rolled out of a hammock and offered aid in the sweet accents of their native tongue.  The sound of the knives and forks had woke the urchin out of a deep sleep.  David filled the hybrid, and then sent him to Lucy’s cabin to learn how she was getting on.  He returned, and told them the lady was sitting on deck.

“Dear me,” said David, “she ought to be in her bed.”  He rose and went on deck, followed by Mr. Talboys.  “Had you not better rest yourself?” said David.

“No, thank you, Mr. Dodd; I had a delicious sleep in the boat.”

Here Talboys put in his word, and made her a rueful apology for the turn his pleasure-excursion had taken.

She stopped him most graciously.

“On the contrary, I have to thank you, indirectly, for one of the pleasantest evenings I ever spent.  I never was in danger before, and it is delightful.  I was a little frightened at first, but it soon wore off, and I feel I should shortly revel in it; only I must have a brave man near just to look at, then I gather courage from his eye; do I not now, Mr. Dodd?”

“Indeed you do,” said David, simply enough.