Peyrou was much annoyed by this visit. He wished to watch the manoeuvres of the suspicious chebec; the presence of the Bohemian constrained him. “What do you want?” said the watchman, rudely. “Nothing; I came to see the sun go down in the sea.” “It is a beautiful sight, but it can be seen elsewhere.” As he said these words, the watchman entered his cell, took two pistols, placed one in his girdle, loaded the other, took it in his hand, and came out. By that time the chebec could be distinguished by the naked eye. The Bohemian, seeing Peyrou armed, could not repress a movement of surprise, almost of vexation, but he said to him, in a bantering tone, as he pointed to the pistol: “You carry there a strange telescope, watchman!” “The other is good to watch your enemy when he is far off; this one serves my purpose when he is near.” “Of what enemy are you speaking, watchman?” “Of you.” “Of me?” “Of you.” After exchanging these words, the men were silent for some time. “You are mistaken. I am the guest of Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez,” said the Bohemian, with emphasis. “Is the venomous scorpion, too, the guest of the house he inhabits?” replied Peyrou, looking steadily in his eyes. The eyes of the vagabond kindled, and, by a muscular contraction of his cheeks, Peyrou saw that he was gnashing his teeth; nevertheless, he replied to Peyrou, with affected calmness: “I do not deserve your reproaches, watchman. Raimond V. took pily on a poor wanderer, and offered me the hospitality of his roof--” “And to prove your gratitude to him, you wish to bring sorrow and ruin upon that roof.” “I?” “Yes, you,--you are in communication with that chebec down there, beating about the horizon.” The Bohemian looked at the vessel with the most indifferent air in the world, and replied: “On my life, I have never set foot on a ship; as to the communication which you suppose I have with that boat, that you call a chebec, I believe,--I doubt if my voice or my signal could reach it.” The watchman threw a penetrating glance on the Bohemian, and said to him: “You have never set foot on the deck of a ship?” “Never, except on those boats on the Rhone, for I was born in Languedoc, on the highway; my father and mother belonged to a band of Bohemians which came from Spain, and the only recollection that I have of my childhood is the refrain so often sung in our wandering clan: “‘Cuando me pario Mi madre la gitana.’ “That is all I know of my birth,--all the family papers I have, watchman.” “The Bohemians of Spain speak Arabic also,” said Peyrou, observing the vagabond attentively. “They say so. I know no other language than the one I speak,--very badly, as you see.” “The sun is setting behind those great clouds down there; for one who is fond of that sight you seem to be quite indifferent to it,” answered the watchman, with an ironical air. “No doubt the chebec interests you more.”