he corner weighted now with piles of
currant-cake--Aunt Jeanne's gache had a name in Sercq--and more substantial
faring still.

There were about a score of young men and girls there, with a sprinkling of
older folk, and every minute brought fresh arrivals to add to the talk and
laughter. Each new-comer on entering paid homage to the silent figure on
the green bed, and gave me boisterous welcome home as they came to receive
a word of greeting from the mistress of the house.

Everyone knew everyone else most intimately. Scarce one but was related to
half the people in the room. And all were in the gayest of spirits, for
there, in a far corner, old Nicholas Grut every now and again gave the
strings of his fiddle an impatient twang, as an intimation that all this
was sheer waste of time, and that the only proper business in life was
dancing. And presently they would begin, and they would dance until the sun
rose, and then--well, the new day had its own rites and ceremonies, and
eyes were bright and pulses leaping, and hearts were all a-flutter with
hopes and fears of what the day might bring.

"And who is this, Jeanne Falla?" I asked, as one came in whom I had never
seen before--a young man, dark and well-looking, and very handsomely
dressed compared with the rest of us. And he stood so long before the
green-bed, gazing at Carette, that there sprang up in me a sudden desire to
take him by the neck and drag him away, or, better still, to hurl him
through the open door into outer darkness.

"Tiens!" said Aunt Jeanne softly, "it is the young Torode--"

"Torode? I do not know him. Who is he?"

"C'est ca. It is since you left. His father has settled himself on Herm. He
is a great man in these parts nowadays. They do say--"

"They do say--?" I asked, as she stopped short.

"Bon dou! They say many strange things about M. Torode. But you know how
folks talk," she murmured.

"And what kind of things do they say, Aunt Jeanne?"

"Oh, all kinds of things. He's making a fine streak of fat--"

"So much the better for him."

"Maybe! But, mon dou, when a man gets along too quickly, the others will
talk, you know. They say he has the devil's own luck in all he undertakes.
He has three of the fastest chasse-marees in the Islands, and they say he's
never lost a cargo yet. And they say he has dealings with the devil and
Bonaparte and all the big merchants in Havre and Cherbourg. But of late
he's gone in for privateering, and the s