ersgill.

"Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives
were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could
not be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide if he
had to pay a bill without a deduction."

"Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay of
1811, and three glasses."

Jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle
of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the
_Happy-go-lucky_.

"You sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him.

Pickersgill nodded his head.

"I had a strange dream," said Jeannette; "I thought you were all taken
by a revenue-cutter, and put in a _cachot_. I went to see you, and I
did not know one of you again--you were all changed."

"Very likely, Jeannette; you would not be the first who did not know
their friends again when in misfortune. There was nothing strange in
your dream."

"_Mais, mon Dieu! Je ne suis pas comme ca, moi_."

"No, that you are not, Jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these
fine days I'll marry you," said Corbett.

"_Doit etre bien beau ce jour la, par exemple_," replied Jeannette,
laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in
these last three years."

"Well, that proves I keep to my promise, anyhow."

"Yes; but you never go any further."

"I can't spare him, Jeannette, that is the real truth," said the
captain: "but wait a little,--in the meantime, here is a five-franc
piece to add to your _petite fortune_."

"_Merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage_!" Jeannette held her
finger up to Corbett, saying, with a smile, "_mechant_!" and then
quitted the room.

"Come, Morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go
on board."

"I wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams," said
Morrison, taking his seat; "I don't like it. When she said that we
should be taken by a revenue-cutter, I was looking at a blue and a white
pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and I said to myself, Now, if that
be a warning, I will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, I shall
be in jail in a week; if the _white_, I shall be back here."

"Well?" said Pickersgill, laughing.

"It wasn't well," answered Morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting
the glass down with a deep sigh; "for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew away
immediately."

"Why, Morrison, you must have a c