Fortunately, I was near the
ship, almost to the prow. I had only to take a few leaps to put myself
aboard the vessel.... And they did not shoot any more."

Ferragut remained silent. He, too, had grown pale, but with surprise
and anger. Then they were true, those reports of Freya's!... He could
not pretend incredulity, nor show himself bold and indifferent to
danger while Toni continued talking.

"Take care, Ulysses!... I have been thinking a great deal about this
thing. Those shots were not meant for me. What enemies have I? Who
would want to harm a poor mate who never sees anybody?... Look out for
yourself! You know perhaps where they came from; you have dealings with
many people."

The captain suspected that he was recalling the adventure of Naples and
that disgraceful proposition guarded as a secret, relating it to this
nocturnal attack. But neither his voice nor his eyes justified such
suspicions. And Ferragut preferred not to seem to suspect what he was
thinking about.

"Does any one else know what occurred?..."

Toni shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody...." He had leaped on the steamer,
pacifying the dog on board, that was howling furiously. The man on
guard had heard the shots, imagining that it was some sailors' fight.

"You have not reported this to the authorities?"

The mate became indignant on hearing this question, with the
independence of the Mediterranean who never remembers authority in
moments of danger and whose only defense is his manual dexterity.--"You
take me, perhaps, for a police-informer?..."

He had wanted to do the manly thing, but henceforth he would always go
armed while he happened to be in Barcelona. _Ay_, with this he might
shoot if he were not wounded!... And winking an eye, he showed his
captain what he called his "instrument."

The mate disliked firearms, crazy and noisy toys of doubtful result.
With an ancestral affection which appeared to evoke the flashing
battle-axes used by his ancestors, he loved the blow in silence, the
gleaming weapon which was a prolongation of the hand.

With gentle stealthiness he drew from his belt an English knife,
acquired at the time that he was skipper of a small boat,--a shining
blade which reproduced the faces of those looking at it, with the sharp
point of a stiletto and the edge of a _razor_.

Perhaps he would not be long in making use of his "instrument." He
recalled various individuals who a few days ago were strolling slowly
along the