“Always, Master Peyrou, for everybody there dotes on him, from monseigneur to Abbé Mascarolus. He is in high favour with the women, from Mlle. Reine to old Dulceline, without speaking of Stephanette, who gave him a flame-coloured ribbon--flame-coloured ribbons, indeed!” exclaimed Luquin, with indignation. “It is a ribbon woven by the rope-maker that this wretch needs! But what can you do? All the women have their heads turned. And why? Because this vagabond strums, good and bad together, in some sort of fashion, an old guitar, so hoarse that it sounds like the pulleys of my tartan, when they hoist the big sail.” “Did not the Bohemian arrive at Maison-Forte the day Raimond V. had the recorder chased by a bull?” “Yes, Master Peyrou, it was on that fatal day that this stray dog set foot in Maison-Forte.” “That is strange!” said the watchman, talking to himself. “Then I was mistaken.” “Ah, Master Peyrou, I am often seized with a desire to conduct this vagabond out to the cove beach, and exchange pistol-shots with him until either he or I come to our death.” “Come, come, Luquin, you are foolish, jealousy makes you wild, and you are wrong. Stephanette is a good and honest girl, I can tell you. As to this vagabond--” Then interrupting himself, as if he wished to keep what he was about to say secret from Luquin, he added: “Come, come, my boy, do not lose your time with a poor old man, while your young and pretty betrothed is waiting for you. Do not neglect her; be with her often, and marry her as soon as possible. There is another Provençal proverb: _A boueno taire bouen labourraire_,--A good labourer for good soil.” “Wait, Master Peyrou, you put balm in my blood,” said the captain. “You are almost as good as a sorcerer. Everybody respects you and loves you; you take Stephanette’s part, so she must deserve it.” “By Our Lady, she deserves it without a doubt. Did she not come before your departure for Nice, and ask me if you could undertake the voyage with safety?” “That is true, Master Peyrou, and thanks to you and your cabalistic papers that I put on my bullets, and to your oil of Syrakoe, not less magical, with which I rubbed my muskets and cannon, I gave a hot chase to a corsair that came near, indiscreetly near, the Terror to the Moors and the vessels she was escorting. Ah, you are a great man, Master Peyrou.” “And those who heed my counsels are wise and sensible,” replied the watchman, smiling. “Now the wise never allow their betrothed to grow weary of waiting.” After having thanked the watchman again, Luquin Trinquetaille decided to profit by the advice given with regard to Stephanette, and went in all haste to Maison-Forte. Finding himself alone, Peyrou breathed a sigh of content, as if he felt again that he was master of his little kingdom. Although he received those who came to consult him with kindly courtesy, he saw them depart with a secret pleasure.