"Why, if they did, cousin, there’d be a chance for you. I’d like to see the yeomanry cavalry dashing at ’em as they landed, sabers out, cut and thrust, ding-dong, over you go. Oh, it won’t be so easy as Master Boney imagines. Don’t you think he’s off his chump, cousin?—Beg pardon, Cousin Sylvia, I mean cracked; that is, mad—why, ’tis said he’s had a medal struck to commemorate his invasion; his own precious head on one side and a figure of Hercules strangling the sea monster on the other. The sea monster’s us, you know, Monsieur. And he’s got the words ’Struck at London, 1804,’ on the thing—isn’t that cool cheek? Better have waited till he got to London—don’t you think so, cousin?" Thus he chattered on, amusing his relatives with his frank boyish confidence, and especially pleasing Monsieur de Fronsac, as it appeared, for the French tutor was constantly showing his teeth as he smiled. "It is good to hear," he said once. "I like it. I do not lov dis Napoleon; truly he is a monstair." "Makes a breakfast of babies, don’t he?" said Jack. "That’s rubbish, of course," said Mr. Bastable. "But he’s a monster all the same, as Monsieur says; and I warrant if he does manage to escape you blue-coated gentlemen of the navy he’ll find us redcoats ready to meet him." Monsieur de Fronsac retired immediately after dinner. "Gone to scribble poetry," said Mr. Bastable with a smile, when the door was shut. "He’s a decent fellow, and knows a heap of mathematics. I fancy he must have been crossed in love, for he’s always writing poetry about the moon or the trees or the sea—so Arthur says, for he never shows his stuff to me. Now, we’re early birds here, Jack. We’ll play a rubber with the ladies, if you please, and then to bed." At breakfast next morning Mr. Bastable was in particularly good humor. He had been out early, so he said; there was nothing like a ride before breakfast for freshening one up and improving one’s appetite. "By the way, Jack," he added, "when I was out I heard that the smugglers made a capital run last night—the first of the season." "The villains!" cried Jack; "under my very nose!" "Taking advantage of the _Fury’s_ being laid up for repairs, you see. But no doubt you’ll put a stop to it when once you get to work—eh, Jack?" Jack fancied there was something quizzical about his cousin’s smile as he said this, and wondered whether the squire was "smoking" him. But he answered cheerfully: "We’ll see, cousin. I don’t know what sort of man Lieutenant Blake is: only saw him for the first time yesterday; but if he’s anything of a goer we’ll give the smugglers a warm time, I promise them." "And how will you set about it, cousin?"