“No, there’s some obscurity about the rest of the affair,” said the gendarme. “The captain and a midshipman only were sent to Paris. It seems Captain Pierre Gaudet made prisoner of one of the officers of the frigate—a regular diable—who shot his brother-in-law, he says, and took his schooner, so he thought he had a right to this prisoner himself. So he fastened him and a sailor taken with him down in the cabin of the Vengeance, and in the evening came ashore leaving five or six men in the lugger. Sacre! would you believe it? but this tonnerre de diable of an Englishman got loose with his man, and actually sliced the gizzards of the five men on board, and ran off with the Vengeance.” “Mon Dieu!” said Julian, greatly interested, for he was now learning something about Sir Oscar de Bracy, “those two men were diables!” “Corbleu! you will say so when you hear the end. The next day news reached Havre that the Vengeance had caught fire, and was run ashore near here under Lyon point, and burnt to the water’s edge.” “You surprise me, Monsieur le Sergeant,” said Julian. “Then what became of lieutenant——” “Lieutenant!” said the gendarme. “I said nothing about a lieutenant.” “He must have been a lieutenant,” said Julian, quite determinedly; “the lieutenant always accompanies his captain on an expedition of that kind.” “Well, perhaps so,” said the Sergeant; “you are a sailor—I am not.” “Yes, that’s true,” said Julian. “I was mate of a fine brig, and young as I am I have seen a good deal of service. But what became of those Englishmen that got the Vengeance under weigh, and took her out? If she caught fire, they must either have been burnt in her, drowned, or got on shore.” “Well, mon garçon,” returned the gendarme, “there’s a deal of mystery about those two dare-devils. Some say they were surely drowned, for no man will stay to be burnt that can escape that death by drowning. Neither modes of going out of the world are pleasant,” and the sergeant and his companion got up, having finished their wine. “But some of the country people who were attracted to the top of the cliff by the burning lugger swear they saw two figures on board when she struck, and that they threw themselves out of her; but when daylight came there were no signs of them. Myself and comrade here, when we heard of the affair, traversed all about the coast, but could get no trace of strangers; so I fancy they only threw themselves overboard to be drowned, and the tide washed back their bodies out to sea. By the way,” added the Sergeant, “have you got your papers with you?” “Oh, yes,” returned Julian, taking out Louis Lebeau’s pocket-book; “here they are, all right.” “All right—all right,” said the Sergeant, without taking them. “Don’t trouble yourself, but take my advice, and join Captain Pierre Gaudet’s privateer; he’s a lucky man, though he did get his lugger half burnt.