Anthony Stevens, as he stood with his head in his arms, drew in a great breath; sick as he was, though everything sank and rose before him as he turned toward the man, his chin was thrust out; grotesque as his face was, with its hardened trickles of blood, there was that in his eyes that wiped the smile from the negro's face. The man tried to step past him to the companion-ladder, but Anthony warned him back and lurched toward it himself. Slowly he climbed it; he felt as though his heart would burst in his breast. But now he was upon the deck. To the starboard he saw lights burning in rows and so knew they had not yet dropped below the city. A jib was drawing, as was the mainsail and a topsail; they bellied full in the fresh wind, and the river leaped and gurgled under the vessel's foot. There was a scattering of men along the deck; they looked and whispered as Anthony went aft, holding to the rail, to the housing, to anything that came to his hand. A pilot, muffled in a heavy coat, stood at the wheel; leaning against the bulwark, examining a chart in the light of a ship's lantern, was the man with one eye. The heavy, uncertain step of Anthony caught the officer's attention; he looked up, and as he saw the swaying figure and blood-daubed face he showed his teeth in his customary smirking way, and his eyes shot malice at his victim. "Well, my young friend," said he, "I see you once more, do I? And aboard my ship, too! I hardly hoped for that." "Have I been brought here at your orders?" asked Anthony, holding himself as stiffly upright as his sagging knees would let him. The master of _Le Mousquet_ sneered at him; his side-drawn lips were as mean as a surly dog's. "Let it be enough for you that you are here," he said; "here, among friends. After your visit to me down the river--you remember that visit, I think?--I felt that I might see you again. But I had no thought it would come about like this." "Just now," said Anthony, "I have not the strength to answer, or do, as I'd like. And so I ask you put over a boat and have me set ashore before we drop below the city." The one-eyed man put the heel of his hand against Anthony's chest and threw him against the low top of the cabin. "You still have that demanding tongue, have you?" he said. "You still think you have but to lift your hand and every one will give way to you." He struck Anthony viciously in the face. "I have something to pay you for, and I'll pay it to the last copper before you are out of my hands." He was drawing back for another blow when a woman's voice, hurried, breathless, full of anger, said: "Citizen Captain! Are you a coward, to strike a man so helpless as this?" It was Mademoiselle Lafargue; she thrust herself between the two, her strong young arm held out to support Anthony, her eyes, full of scorn, upon the master of the privateer. "Ah, do not be afraid, _citoyenne_," said he. "He is as strong as a wild boar; and this time it is but my hands I use."