After the calm the storm came, after the storm the rough winds and
winnowed skies. At one moment the ship threatened to leap to heaven,
at another, to plunge down to the sea's floor. Breton had a time of it
one afternoon in the cabin. He was buffeted about like maize in a
heated pan. He fell, and in trying to save himself he clutched at the
garments hanging from the hooks. The cloth gave. The pommel of the
Chevalier's rapier hit him in the forehead, cutting and dazing him. He
rose, staggering, and indulged in a little profanity which made him
eminently human. One by one he gathered up the fallen garments and
cloaks. It was haphazard work: for now the floor was where the
partition had been, and the ceiling where the bunk had stood. Keys had
rolled from the Chevalier's pockets--keys, coins, and rings; and Breton
scrambled and slid around on his hands and knees till he had recovered
these treasures, which he knew to be all his master had. He thought of
the elegant rubies and sapphires and topaz of the garters he had
ordered for his master but four months gone. And that mysterious lady
of high degree? Paris! Alas, Paris was so far away that he, Breton,
was like to see it never again.
He stood up, balanced himself, and his eye caught sight of the grey
cloak, which lay crumpled under the bunk.
"Ah! so it is you, wretched cloak, that gave way when I clung to you
for help?" He stooped and dragged it forth by its skirts. "So it was
you?" swinging it fiercely above his head and balancing himself nicely.
The bruise on his forehead made him savage. "Whatever made me bring
you to the Corne d'Abondance? What could you not tell, if voice were
given to you? And Monsieur Paul used to look so fine in it! You make
me cold in the spine!" He shook it again and again, then hung it up by
the torn collar, which had yielded over-readily to his frenzied grasp.
As the ache in his head subsided, so diminished the strength of his
wrath; and he went out to ask the Chevalier if he should keep the
valuables in his own pocket or replace them in the pocket of the
pantaloons from which they had fallen. The Chevalier took the rings
and slipped them on his fingers, all save the signet ring, which he
handed to his lackey.
"Keep this, lad, till I ask for it," was all he said.
Breton put the ring in the little chamois bag which his mother had
given him. The ring rattled against a little silver crucifix. The lad
then returned to the cabin and read his favorite book till his eyes
grew weary. He looked about for a marker and espied some papers on the
floor. These he thrust into his place and fell to dreaming.