exercise, and who never miss their mark. So that when they are boarding a ship, they almost invariable throw away their boarding, pikes, or their cutlass, and seizing the first Englishman they can catch hold of, they uneye him with a dexterity and quickness quite delightful to behold. You will now comprehend that I did not deceive you in what I said, and that our collection is complete.” “But,” asked Emanuel, who had listened to this long enumeration with a certain degree of interest, “how does your captain manage to make himself understood by men brought together from such distant nations?” “First of all our captain understands all languages--and although in battle and during stormy weather he speaks his mother tongue, he; gives such an accent to it that every one understands him and obeys: him. But see, the larboard cabin door is opening, and I doubt not he is ready to-receive you.” And instantly a boy dressed in a midshipman’s uniform came up to the two officers, and asked Emanuel if he did not call himself the Count d’Auray; and on his receiving an affirmative reply, he requested him to follow him; and the officer who had so conscientiously sustained the part of a cicerone, immediately went on deck to resume his duties there. As to Emanuel, he advanced towards the cabin with a mixed feeling of anxiety and curiosity, He was at last about to be ushered in the presence of Captain Paul. He was a man who appeared to be between fifty and fifty-five years of age, and to whom the habit of walking between decks had given him a stoop rather than age. He wore the uniform of the French navy, accord-ing to its strictest regulations. It was a blue coat with scarlet facings, a red waistcoat, and breeches of the same color, grey stockings, with frilled shirt and’ ruffles. His hair, rolled up in large curls, and powdered quite white, was tied into a queue by a ribbon, the ends of which floated upon his shoulders. His cocked hat and his sword were lying upon a table beside him. At the moment Emanuel entered the door, he was sitting upon the carriage of a gun, but when he perceived him, he rose up to receive him. The young count felt intimidated by the aspect of this man: there was in his eye a searching look which appeared to peer into the very soul of the person whom he gazed upon. Perhaps, also, this impression was the more powerful, that he presented himself before him with a conscience that reproached him with the act he was endeavouring to accomplish, and of which he was about to render the captain, if not an accomplice, at all events the executioner. These two men, as though they felt a secret repulsion, the one towards the other, saluted each other with politeness, but with cold reserve. “It is the Count d’Auray that I have the honor of addressing,” said the old officer. “And I Captain Paul, I believe,” replied the young mousquetaire; they both bowed a second time.