red or
not.

Full of these thoughts the groom of the chamber stalked on to S. Helier.
On reaching the quay, he came to "The White Ship"--a tavern frequented
alike by the officers of the garrison and by those of the island
militia. The parlour was full of men, some in uniform, some in plain
clothes, smoking, drinking, playing cards--a scene of Teniers. One of
the first faces on which his eye fell was that of Le Gallais, who sprang
from his chair on Elliot's entrance, but was restrained by his
neighbours, and sat down watching the intruder's movements with glaring
eye. Striding up to the hearth, and standing with his back to it, the
cavalier broke into a forced laugh.

"Strange company you keep, gentlemen. I spy one among you whom you had
better put forth without delay."

"Whom mean you?" asked the patch-wearing Querto. "'May I not take mine
ease in mine inn?' as the fat fellow says in the play. May not a plain
soldier choose his own company?"

"A soldier is a gentleman, and should keep company with gentlemen,"
answered the flushed youth. "Mr. Le Gallais is no mate for cavaliers. I
say to his face that he is a cropeared rebel, a busybody, and a
pestilent knave."

"I appeal to you, Major Querto," said Le Gallais, roused from his
temporary pause, and turning to the major, whom indeed he had brought to
the place, and for whose refreshment he was providing.

"Appeal me no appeals," said the Major, with a truculent look. "No man
shall appeal to Dick Querto till he is purged of such epitaphs."

Confusion reigned. Le Gallais looked about him for a friendly face, and
presently saw sympathy on that of a fellow-countryman and brother
officer.

"Captain Bisson," he said, "you will speak to Mr. Elliot's friend."

Elliot flung out of the house, followed by Querto and two or three
Royalist officers, Le Gallais, and Bisson in the rear. They walked
towards the beach, and on their arriving at the foot of the Gallows
Hill--near where the picquet-house now stands--an Irish officer came
from Elliot's group and met Bisson, hat in hand.

"Are the gentlemen to fight now?" he asked.

"The sooner the better," answered Bisson.

"Will it be a _pas de deux_, or will we all join the dance?"

"Surely, a combat of two," gravely replied the islander. "We do not
understand Paris fashions here. With you and me, sir, there need be no
quarrel."

"Sure, and we could have an elegant fight without quarrelling," muttered
the Irishman, with a