"Mademoiselle was wondering," said Dormer Colville, who, it seemed, was quick to step into that silence which the object of a conversation is apt to cause--"Mademoiselle was wondering how it was that you escaped shipwreck in the storm." "Ah! because one has a star. Even a poor sailor may have a star, mademoiselle. As well as the Prince Napoleon, who boasts that he has one of the first magnitude, I understand." "You are not a poor sailor, monsieur," said Juliette. "Then who am I?" he asked, with a gay laugh, spreading out his hands and standing before them, beneath the swinging lamp. The Marquis de Gemosac raised himself on one elbow. "I will tell you who you are," he said, in a low, quick voice, pointing one hand at Loo. "I will tell you." And his voice rose. "You are the grandson of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. You are the Last Hope of the French. That is your heritage. Juliette! this is the King of France!" Juliette turned and looked at him, with all the colour gone from her face. Then, instinctively, she dropped on one knee, and before he had understood, or could stop her, had raised his hand to her lips. CHAPTER XV THE TURN OF THE TIDE "Tide's a-turning, sir," said a voice at the open doorway of the cabin, and Captain Clubbe turned his impassive face toward Dormer Colville, who looked oddly white beneath the light of the lamp. Barebone had unceremoniously dragged his hand away from the hold of Juliette's fingers. He made a step back and then turned toward the door at the sound of his shipmate's well-known voice. He stood staring out into the darkness like one who is walking in his sleep. No one spoke, and through the open doorways no sound came to them but the song of the wind through the rigging. At last Barebone turned, and there was no sign of fear or misgiving in his face. He looked at Clubbe, and at no one else, as if the Captain and he were alone in the cabin where they had passed so many years together in fair weather, to bring out that which is evil in a man, and foul, to evolve the good. "What do _you_ say?" he asked, in English, and he must have known that Captain Clubbe understood French better than he was ready to admit. Clubbe passed his hand slowly across his cheek and chin, not in order to gain time, or because he had not an answer ready, but because he came of a slow-speaking race. His answer had been made ready weeks before while he sat on the weather-beaten seat set against the wall of "The Black Sailor" at Farlingford. "Tide's turned," he answered, simply. "You'd better get your oilskins on again and go." "Yes," said Loo, with a queer laugh. "I fancy I shall want my oilskins." The boat which had been sent from Royan, at the order of the pilot, who went ashore there, had followed "The Last Hope" up the river, and was now lying under the English ship's stern awaiting her two passengers and the turn of the tide. Dormer Colville glanced at the cabin clock.