“What I like in you,” said Pog, slowly, as he awakened from his reverie, “is that you are a stranger to every sentiment, I will not say of virtue, but of humanity.” “And what in the devil do you say that to me for, friend Pog? You see that, as inhuman as I am, I do not forget who you are, and who I am. You say ‘tu’ to me, and I answer ‘vous’ to you.” Just then two shots were fired and resounded through the galley. “The devil! there is Mello who is also saying ‘tue,’” added Trimalcyon, smiling at his odious play upon words and looking toward the door with imperturbable calmness. The two women slaves fell on their knees with signs of agonising terror. Suddenly the trumpets burst forth with an energy which doubtless violated all the laws of harmony, but which proved at least that the threats conveyed by the negro dwarf had taken effect, and that the unhappy musicians believed Trimalcyon capable of torturing them. After two more shots, there was a cry,--a terrible roar uttered by all the slaves at once. The tumult was then succeeded by a profound silence. “It seems it was nothing after all,” said the captain of the _Sybarite_, addressing Pog, who had again fallen into a reverie. “But tell me, comrade,” continued he, “in what do you discover that I have nothing human in me? I love the arts, and letters and luxury. I plunder with discretion, taking only what suits me. I enjoy to the utmost all of the five senses with which I am provided. I fight with care, preferring to attack one who is weaker rather than one who is stronger than myself, and my commerce consists in taking from those who have with the least possible chance of loss. Yes, once again I ask you, comrade, where in the devil do you see inhumanity in that?” “Come, you excite my shame as well as my pity. You have not even the energy of evil. There is always in you the pedantry of the college.” “Fie, fie upon you, my comrade; do not talk of the college, of that sad time of meagre cheer and privations without number. I would be at this moment as dry as a galley mast, if I had continued spitting Latin, while now,” said the insolent knave, striking his stomach, “I have the rotundity of a prebendary; and all that, thanks to whom? To Yacoub-Reis, who, twenty years ago, made me a slave as I was going by sea to Civita-Vecchia, to try my clerical fortune in the city of the clergy. Yacoub-Reis gave me mind, activity, and courage. I was young, he taught me his trade. I renounced my religion, I took the turban, and so from one thing to another, from pillage to murder, I came at last to be commander of the _Sybarite_. Commerce goes well! I expose myself in extreme cases, and when it is necessary I fight like another, but I take care of my skin, it is true, because I intend before long to retire from business, and repose from the fatigues of war in my retreat in Tripoli, with several Madames Trimalcyon. Again I ask, is not all that very human?”