"The palace? The plan of the Mount? Did you notice? Tell me something of it--how it is laid out--" Sanchez swallowed; set down the glass hard. "Yes, yes! I saw much--a great deal!" he answered with eager zest. "Oh, I kept my eyes open, although I seemed not to, and was mindful of learning all I could!" "Here!" From his pocket the young man took a note-book; pencil. "Set it down; everything! I know something, already, from the old monks--the rough diagrams in their books. You entered where? Take the pencil and--" The minutes passed and still Sanchez traced; seemed almost to forget his injuries in his interest in the labor. Plan after plan was made; torn up; one finally remained in the hand of the Black Seigneur. "You think--" Anxiously the servant watched his master's face; but the latter, straight, erect, with keen eyes fixed, did not answer. "You think--" again began the man when the ancient time-piece, beating harshly the hour, interrupted. "Eleven o'clock! High tide!" The Black Seigneur pushed back his chair and rose. "Good!" Sanchez's alacrity indicated a quick comprehension of what the movement portended. "You--had better remain here!" shortly. "Me?" said the servant with a hoarse laugh. "Me?" "Have you not had enough of my family--my service?" the young Seigneur demanded bitterly. "Bah!" muttered the other. "The dog that's beaten springs at the chance to bite! You go to rescue your comrades. I--will go with you!" "In which case, death--not vengeance--will most likely be your reward!" "I care not!" stubbornly. A moment the Black Seigneur regarded him; then made a gesture. "Well, have your way!" He listened. "The wind is in the west." "A little south of west," answered the man. "A rough night for your boat to have crossed!" "Oh, I was bound to come! And if you hadn't been here, I'd have gone on, on,--till I found you--" The hand of the young man touched the other's shoulder. "Come!" he said, and threw open the door. "You are going in the storm?" The girl, Nanette, intercepted them. The Black Seigneur nodded shortly. "It must be an important mission to take you to sea on such a night. Why don't you stay where it's warm and comfortable? Or," with a laugh, "at least until Monsieur Gabarie," indicating the corpulent figure intrenched behind a barricade of dishes and bottles on a small table near the fire, "has finished the little puppet play he is writing." "It _is_ finished!" As he spoke, the poet rose. "I had but written 'curtain' when you spoke. Your wine, fair Nanette, hath a rarely inspiring quality!" "Oh, I care not for your compliments!" she returned. "Your _capitaine_," again studying the Black Seigneur with dark sedulous eyes, "has not found it so much to his liking! He has neither asked for more, nor drunk what he ordered; and now would venture out--" Unmindful of her words the young man called to old Pierre.