oar-skins tied
with sinews, and he wore large shoes of untanned leather. His large
Spanish hat was ornamented with two or three red feathers; and the
mountings of his buccaneer gun were of silver. Such was the difference
between the costume and arms of Master Rend-your-Soul and that of his
servant.

When he entered the clearing, he held his gun under his arm and plucked
carelessly a wood-pigeon which he had killed; three others were hung at
his belt by a snare; he threw them to Peter, who immediately began to
pluck and clean them with wonderful dexterity. These wood-pigeons, of
the size of a partridge, were plump, fine and round as quails. As fast
as Peter had one ready, he cut off its head and feet and put it to cook
in the thick and abundant sauce which filled the boar's belly. When
Master Rend-your-Soul had finished plucking his, he threw it in also.

Peter said, "Master, shall I close the roast?"

"Close it," replied the master.

Then Peter cut the strings which held the boar; the cavity of the belly
almost closed and the pigeons began to boil in this novel fashion.

During all these culinary preparations the buccaneer had not appeared to
perceive the chevalier, who, with foot advanced, nose in the air, and
hand on the hilt of his sword, was prepared to answer proudly any
interrogatories which might be made, and even to question in return
Master Rend-your-Soul. The latter, having cut off the head and feet of
the pigeon which he was plucking, wiped his knife quietly and replaced
it in his case.

To explain the indifference of the buccaneer, we must say to the reader
that nothing was more common than that people should visit the
buccaneers out of curiosity. The buccaneers were, in their customs, very
like the Caribbeans. Like them they were proud to accord hospitality;
like them they allowed any one to come who was hungry and thirsty and
partake of their repasts; but, like the Caribbeans also, they regarded
an invitation as a superfluous formality. The feast ready, let eat it
who would.

After disembarrassing himself of his belt and gun, Rend-your-Soul
extended himself on the ground, drew a gourd hidden under the fresh
leaves, and drank some brandy as a preparation for dinner.

Croustillac was still in the same attitude, nose in the air, foot
advanced, hand on his sword; the color rose to his forehead; nothing
could have insulted him more than the absolute indifference of
Rend-your-Soul to his presence.

H