“You are at home here,” said Servadac, with as much calmness as he could command; “it will be advisable, I think, for this discussion to be carried on in the open air.” And hurriedly he left the room. Followed immediately by the others, he led the way to a level piece of ground, which he considered he might fairly claim as neutral territory. “Now, gentlemen,” he began haughtily, “permit me to represent that, in spite of any loss France may have sustained in the fate of Algeria, France is ready to answer any provocation that affects her honor. Here I am the representative of my country, and here, on neutral ground--” “Neutral ground?” objected Colonel Murphy; “I beg your pardon. This, Captain Servadac, is English territory. Do you not see the English flag?” and, as he spoke, he pointed with national pride to the British standard floating over the top of the island. “Pshaw!” cried Servadac, with a contemptuous sneer; “that flag, you know, has been hoisted but a few short weeks.” “That flag has floated where it is for ages,” asserted the colonel. “An imposture!” shouted Servadac, as he stamped with rage. Recovering his composure in a degree, he continued: “Can you suppose that I am not aware that this island on which we find you is what remains of the Ionian representative republic, over which you English exercise the right of protection, but have no claim of government?” The colonel and the major looked at each other in amazement. Although Count Timascheff secretly sympathized with Servadac, he had carefully refrained from taking part in the dispute; but he was on the point of interfering, when the colonel, in a greatly subdued tone, begged to be allowed to speak. “I begin to apprehend,” he said, “that you must be la-boring under some strange mistake. There is no room for questioning that the territory here is England’s--England’s by right of conquest; ceded to England by the Treaty of Utrecht. Three times, indeed--in 1727, 1779, and 1792--France and Spain have disputed our title, but always to no purpose. You are, I assure you, at the present moment, as much on English soil as if you were in London, in the middle of Trafalgar Square.” It was now the turn of the captain and the count to look surprised. “Are we not, then, in Corfu?” they asked. “You are at Gibraltar,” replied the colonel. Gibraltar! The word fell like a thunderclap upon their ears. Gibraltar! the western extremity of the Mediterranean! Why, had they not been sailing persistently to the east? Could they be wrong in imagining that they had reached the Ionian Islands? What new mystery was this?