"For a thousand reasons, I should be disturbed beyond measure, Father. I even count on the events of the life, more adventurous than ever, that I am about to lead, to distract my mind, and I hope----" The Gascon did not finish his sentence, and again concealed his face in his hands. The priest respected his silence and left him. * * * * * Thanks to trade winds and a fine passage, the Unicorn was in sight of the coast of France about forty days after her departure from Martinique. Little by little the gloomy sadness of the chevalier softened. With an instinct of great delicacy--an instinct as new to him as the sentiment which, without doubt, had developed it--the chevalier reserved for solitude the tender and melancholy thoughts awakened in him by the remembrance of Blue Beard, for he did not wish to expose these precious memories to the rude pleasantries of Captain Daniel, or to the interpretations of Father Griffen. At the end of eight days the chevalier had again become in the eyes of the passengers of the Unicorn what he had been during the first voyage. Knowing that he was to pay his passage by his good companionship, he put that kind of probity which was natural to him into his efforts to amuse Captain Daniel; he showed himself so good a companion that the worthy captain saw with despair the end of the voyage approach. Croustillac had formally declared that he was going to take service in Moscow where the Czar Peter then received soldiers of fortune gladly. The sun was on the point of setting when the Unicorn found herself in sight of the shores of France. Captain Daniel, from motives of prudence, preferred waiting for the morning before proceeding to the anchorage. Shortly before the moment of sitting down to the table, Father Griffen prayed the Gascon to come with him to his room. The grave, almost solemn, air of the priest appeared strange to Croustillac. The door closed, Father Griffen, his eyes filled with tears, extended his arms to the Gascon, and said: "Come, come, excellent and noble creature; come, my good and dear son." The chevalier, at once moved and astonished, cordially pressed the priest in his arms and said to him: "What is it, then, my father?" "What is it? what is it? How, you, a poor adventurer, you, whose past life should have rendered less scrupulous than others, you save the life of the son of a king, you devote yourself to his interests with as much abnegation as intelligence; and then, that done and your friends in safety, you return to your obscure and miserable life, not knowing even at this hour, on the eve of reentering France, where you will lay your head to-morrow! and that without one word, one single word of complaint, of the ingratitude, or at least, of the forgetfulness of those who owe you so much!" "But, my Father----"