And all this time, had he only known it, fortune was preparing for him, without effort on his part, the independence he would risk life and character to gain. That very sou’-wester wailing up the narrow street was rattling the windows of a castle on a hill hundreds of miles away, and disturbing the last moments of a dying man in his lordly bed-chamber; was driving before it, over a bleak, barren moor, pelting storms of rain to drench the cloaked and booted heir, riding post to reach that death-bed; sowing in a weak constitution the seeds of an illness that would allow him but a brief enjoyment of his inheritance; and the next in succession, the far-off cousin, was making up his accounts in the humble parlour of a seaport pot-house, because he was to sail for the Spanish main with the next tide. “One, two, tree!”—thump—“one, two, tree!”—thump—“_Balancez! Chassez. Un, deux, trois!_” Thump after thump, louder and heavier than before. The rafters shook, the ceiling quivered. The Captain rose, irritated and indignant, to call fiercely for the landlord. Butter-faced Bob, anticipating a storm, wisely turned a deaf ear, ensconcing himself in the back kitchen, whence he refused to emerge. The Captain shouted again, and receiving no answer walked into the passage. “Stow that noise!” he hallooed from the foot of the half-dozen wooden steps that led to the upper floor. “Who is to get any business done with a row like that going on aloft, as if the devil was dead and the ship gone overboard?” The Captain’s voice was powerful and his language plain, but the only reply he received was a squeak from the fiddle, a wail from the dog, and a “One, two, tree”—thump—louder than ever. His patience began to fail. “Zounds! man,” he broke out; “will you leave off that cursed noise, or must I come up and _make_ you?” Then the fiddle stopped, the dog was silent, and children’s voices were heard laughing heartily. The last sound would have appeased the Captain had his wrath been ever so high, but a strange, puzzled expression overspread his features while he received the following answer in an accent that denoted the speaker was no Englishman. “You are a rude, gross man. I sall continue my instructions to my respectable young friends in the dance wizout your permission. _Monsieur_, you are insolent. _Tiens!_” The last word carried with it such an amount of anger, defiance, and contempt as can only be conveyed in that monosyllable by a Frenchman. The Captain’s frown changed to a broad smile, but he affected wrath none the less, while he exclaimed in a coarse, sailor-like voice— “Insolent! you dancing dog of a Mounseer! Insolent! I’ll teach _you_ manners afore I’ve done with you. If you don’t drop it _now_, this instant, I’ll come aloft in a pig’s whisper, and pull you down by the ears!”