"But what a quantity of blood he had to shed!" exclaimed the girl, shuddering. "And not a single word of regret or of pity for his victims. With what cruel indifference he speaks of the men he killed in cold blood; for thus taken by surprise, the poor creatures could offer no resistance." "That is true," murmured Onésime. But his aunt did not even hear him, for, turning to the girl, she exclaimed, warmly: "It is very easy to talk, my child, but in such a position one certainly has a right--" "Ah, yes, my dear, you are probably going to say that this man was the victim of the vilest treachery,--that he had an undoubted right to recover his liberty at any cost, and that his ferocious disregard of the lives of others is what people call courage and heroism. All this is very possible. I am a poor judge, perhaps. I only tell you how it impresses me. This account of his exploits excites only horror and aversion in me." "But a corsair is a corsair, my child. You certainly don't expect him to be a saint. Each man according to his trade." "It is an executioner's business to behead people, aunt, but that makes his trade none the less horrible," exclaimed Onésime. "Ah, I felt sure M. Onésime would feel as I do about it," said the girl, quickly. "He? oh, yes, I don't doubt it! He is a regular sissy. When did you ever hear of his doing any fighting?" "I admit that I am no hero, aunt," replied Onésime, smiling, "I don't doubt in the least that if I were a prisoner, and obliged to kill somebody to regain my liberty, I should remain a prisoner." "Yours is the truest, noblest kind of courage, after all," responded the young girl, warmly, for her dislike of warriors in general was perhaps due in a great measure to the fact that Onésime, both by reason of his temperament and his infirmity, was never likely to be a man of that kind. "Onésime courageous!" retorted the housekeeper. "You must be jesting!" Then, turning to her nephew, she cried: "Don't you see that mademoiselle is making fun of you, my poor boy? Oh, well, put my knitting on the table for me, my brave hero, and hand me my work-box without dropping it if you can." The young man was consequently obliged to hold out both his hands in turn, one to present the work-box, the other to take the knitting, and as the light from the lamp fell full on the table, the pitiless aunt instantly discovered the terrible burn he had received. "Good Heavens! what is the matter with your hand?" she exclaimed. "Nothing of any consequence, aunt," he replied, hastily drawing back his hand, while the young girl, whose attention had been attracted by the housekeeper's exclamation, turned toward him anxiously. But the aunt sprang up, and, seizing her nephew's hand in spite of his efforts to hide it, examined it carefully.