All these reasons made him look anxiously for the coming of the black galley, and for the last time, before sitting down to the table, he examined the horizon attentively. The sun was just beginning to set, and although the watchman descried nothing in the distance, he did not lose all hope of seeing the galley before nightfall, and to be able to signal the galley more readily, he resolved to dine outside. The sight of a good dinner drove some of the wrinkles from his brow. He began by holding the flagon of Burgundy wine to his lips. After having swallowed several draughts, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as he quoted the Provençal proverb, “_A Tousan tou vin es san_,--On All Saints’ Day all wine is good for the health.” “Raimond V. has not forgotten how to judge,” added he, smiling. Then he carved the turkey. “Well, well, for an old man, old wine. I feel my heart already rejoice, and my hopes of seeing the commander’s galley are a good deal brighter.” At this moment, Peyrou heard a rustling in the air; one of the branches of the old pine cracked, and Brilliant alighted with a heavy wing on the stone roof of the sentry-box; then from the roof she descended to the ground. “Ah, ah! Brilliant,” said the watchman, “you come to get your part of the Christmas present, do you? Take this!” and he handed her a piece of the turkey, which the eagle refused. “Ah! cruel wretch, you would not disdain that morsel if it was bloody. Do you want some of this pie? No? Ah! you will not find every day such a treat as the pigeon of that accursed Bohemian. Never shall I forget the service you rendered me, my courageous bird, although your taste for blood went for much in your fine action. But, no matter, Brilliant, no matter; it smells of ingratitude to be looking for the motive of a deed by which we have profited. I ought to have thought of you and given you a fine quarter of mutton for your Christmas feast. But to-morrow I will not forget For you, as for a great many men, the treat makes the festivity, and it is not the holy day or saint they glorify.” Master Peyrou finished his dinner, sometimes chatting with Brilliant, and sometimes embracing the baron’s bottle. Twilight was slowly descending upon the town. The watchman, wrapping himself in his cloak, lit his pipe, and sat down to contemplate the approach of the beautiful winter night, in a sort of meditative beatitude. Although the night was falling, he again examined the horizon with his telescope, and discovered nothing. Turning his head mechanically on the side of Maison-Forte, with the thought that all hope of seeing the commander arrive was not yet lost, he saw, to his great astonishment, a company of soldiers, commanded by two men on horseback, rapidly marching up the beach toward the house of Raimond V.