Stamping his foot, he declared that he would not go--it was too unjust!--unless they carried him by force, and that he would kill the first man that came to take him. Then I saw that he was lost indeed, and my heart ached for him. What could be done? The guard was there, outside my door, waiting to lead him away and I dared not open; seconds and minutes passed and I could find no pretext for further delay. An idea came to me, suddenly: I entreated him very gently, in the name of his mother, reminding him of my oath and, for the second time in my life, calling him brother. Yves wept. It was over; he was vanquished and docile. I threw some water over his forehead, adjusted his shirt a little and opened my door. All this had not lasted three minutes. The guard appeared. He rose and followed, meek as a child. He looked back and smiled at me, went and replied with calmness to the interrogatory of the Commander, and proceeded peacefully to the hold to be put in irons. About midnight, when this arduous watch was over, I went to bed, sending to Yves a blanket and a cloak. (For the nights already were cold.) And this in my helplessness was all that I could now do for him. CHAPTER XXXIII The next day, a Monday, the Commander sent for me early, and I entered his room with a feeling of resentment in my heart, with bitter words ready on my lips, which I would have uttered at the outset in revenge for my supplications of yesterday, if I had not feared to aggravate Yves' lot. I was mistaken, however: he had been touched the previous night and had understood me. "You may go to your friend. Give him a good talking to, but say that I pardon him. The affair will go no farther and will be put right by a simple disciplinary punishment. He will remain eight days in irons, and that will be all. I inflict on the three petty officers, at your instance, the equivalent punishment of eight days' close arrest. I do this for you, who look upon him as a brother, and for his sake also, for, after all, he is the best man we have on board." And I went away with feelings very different from those with which I had come, regarding him indeed with gratitude and affection. CHAPTER XXXIV A corner of the hold of the _Médée_, in all the disarray of laying up. A lantern illumines a vast medley of heterogeneous objects more or less nibbled by rats. A dozen or so sailors--Barrada, Guiaberry, Barazère, Le Hello, all the little band of friends--are grouped about a man lying on the floor. It is Yves in irons, stretched on the damp boards, his head supported on his elbow, his foot in the padlocked ring of the "bar of justice." The most implacable of his three enemies. Petty Officer Lagatut, stands before him, threatening him in his old drunken voice. He threatens him with revenge for that affair of the cutter, in which, to his mind, I had taken too large a part.