Meanwhile, as Peschiera leapt upon deck, a flood of light poured upon him from lifted torches. That light streamed full on the face and form of a man of commanding stature, whose arm was around Violante, and whose dark eyes flashed upon the Count more luminously than the torches. On one side this man stood the Austrian Prince; on the other side (a cloak, and a profusion of false dark locks, at his feet) stood Lord L'Estrange, his arms folded, and his lips curved by a smile in which the ironical humor native to the man was tempered with a calm and supreme disdain. The Count strove to speak, but his voice faltered. All around him looked ominous and hostile. He saw many Italian faces, but they scowled at him with vindictive hate; in the rear were English mariners, peering curiously over the shoulders of the foreigners, and with a broad grin on their open countenances. Suddenly, as the Count thus stood perplexed, cowering, stupefied, there burst from all the Italians present a hoot of unutterable scorn--"_Il traditore! il traditore!_"--(the traitor! the traitor!) The Count was brave, and at the cry he lifted his head with a certain majesty. At that moment Harley, raising his hand as if to silence the hoot, came forth from the group by which he had been hitherto standing, and toward him the Count advanced with a bold stride. "What trick is this?" he said in French, fiercely. "I divine that it is you whom I can single out for explanation and atonement." "_Pardieu, Monsieur le Comte_," answered Harley in the same language, which lends itself so well to polished sarcasm and high bred enmity--"let us distinguish. Explanation should come from me, I allow; but atonement I have the honor to resign to yourself. This vessel--" "Is mine!" cried the Count. "Those men, who insult me, should be in my pay." "The men in your pay, _Monsieur le Comte_, are on shore drinking success to your voyage. But, anxious still to procure you the gratification of being among your own countrymen, those whom I have taken into my pay are still better Italians than the pirates whose place they supply; perhaps not such good sailors; but then I have taken the liberty to add to the equipment of a vessel, which has cost me too much to risk lightly, some stout English seamen, who are mariners more practiced than even your pirates. Your grand mistake, _Monsieur le Comte_, is in thinking that the 'Flying Dutchman' is yours. With many apologies for interfering with your intention to purchase it, I beg to inform you that Lord Spendquick has kindly sold it to me. Nevertheless, _Monsieur le Comte_, for the next few weeks I place it--men and all--at your service." Peschiera smiled scornfully