pectacle which had greeted them on the
arrival of _L'Heureux_, to behold some new example of De Roberval's
discipline.

Soon every soul on board the vessel stood on the deck, with the
exception of the three women, and De Roberval, noting their absence,
went below himself, and roughly ordered them to dress and come above at
once.

When all were assembled, De Roberval addressed them. His face was pale
and set, and his eye glittered with a cold and cruel resolve.

"You have come," said he, "to see a crime receive its just punishment,
and though shame has come upon my own kindred, my hand shall not relax.
Bring the prisoner on deck."

As Gaillon and two of the crew departed to fetch Claude, Pere Lebeau,
who had witnessed with horror the development of events, hastened to
Roberval's side, and with his hand on his arm besought him to consider.

"Your niece is guiltless, Monsieur," he cried. "Will you bring dishonour
on your name, and murder an innocent man without a trial?"

De Roberval shook him angrily off, and bade him interfere no further, or
he should share Claude's fate.

"I care not for myself," said the intrepid priest. "I cannot stand by
and witness a murder in cold blood. Is there no brave man in all this
throng who will help me to resist this tyrant?"

Paul d'Auxhillon, and the one or two other gentlemen on board, who now
for the first time realised what was about to happen, sprang forward
with drawn swords, and were joined by a couple of Roberval's Picard
retainers. For a moment it looked as if Claude's fate might be averted.

But Gaillon had done his work well. At a signal from De Roberval, the
men who were drawn up on both sides of the deck rushed forward; the
half-dozen volunteers were quickly overpowered, and after a short
struggle were pinioned and rendered helpless.

Just at this moment Gaillon appeared with the prisoner. The sight of his
pale face and unkempt hair, his worn, almost emaciated limbs, and
bruised and swollen wrists, awakened a murmur of sympathy even among the
lawless wretches who composed the crew.

Marguerite, who had stood like one in a dream while these events were
taking place, realised for the first time, at the sight of her lover,
what Roberval's intentions were. Her proud spirit, which had so nobly
sustained her throughout the voyage, gave way at last, and she threw
herself at her uncle's feet, beseeching him to have mercy.

Roberval vouchsafed her no answer, but, raising