He seized his telescope, and, in spite of the gathering darkness, recognised the recorder Isnard, mounted on his white mule. The recorder was accompanied by a cavalier, whose hausse-col, or metal collar, jacket of buff-skin, and white scarf marked him as a captain of infantry. “What does that mean?” cried the watchman, recalling with alarm the animosity of Master Isnard. “Are they going to arrest the Baron des Anbiez by virtue of an order from the Marshal of Vitry? Ah! I have too much reason to fear it, and what I fear more is the resistance of the baron. My God! how is all this going to end? What a sad Christmas if things are as I fear!” Greatly disturbed, the watchman stood with his eyes fixed on the shore, although night was now too far advanced to permit him to distinguish any object. Soon the moon rose bright and clear, flooding the rocks, the bay, the shore, and the castle of Maison-Forte with her brilliant light. In the distance the city, immersed in fog, showed many a luminous point through the cloudy, vapourous mass, and its sharp-pointed roofs and belfries cut a black silhouette on the pale azure of the sky. The sea, perfectly calm, was like a peaceful lake, and its soft murmurs were scarcely audible. The waves seemed to sleep. A line of darker blue marked the curve of the horizon. The watchman looked anxiously at the windows of Maison-Forte, which were all brilliantly illuminated. By degrees, his eyelids grew heavy. Attributing the sensation of heaviness in his head to the wine, which he had partaken of in moderation, he began to walk about briskly, but, notwithstanding his persistent efforts, he felt a sort of lassitude stealing through all his limbs. His sight began to grow dim; he was obliged to return and sit down on his bench. For some minutes he struggled with all his might against this numbness which was gradually taking possession of all his faculties. Finally, although his reason commenced to share this state of general stupor, he had the presence of mind to go in his cabin and plunge his head in a basin of ice-cold water. This immersion seemed for some moments to restore to him the use of his senses. “Miserable creature I am! What have I done!” cried he. “I have made myself drunk--” He took a few more steps, but was obliged to sit down again. The soporific, thwarted in its effect for a moment, redoubled its power over him. Leaning back against the wall of his cabin, he retained perception enough to be the witness of a spectacle which overwhelmed him with rage and despair.