rating that a fine ear over there might so
well perceive. And then, one can see nothing more, through the rain
grown thicker and which confuses the eyes; it is dark, dark as in the
bowels of the earth where the devil lives. He recognizes no longer the
point of departure where the others must be waiting for him, whose ruin
he has perhaps caused; he hesitates, he waits, the ear extended, the
arteries beating, and he hooks himself, for a moment's reflection, to
one of the large barks of Spain--Something approaches then, gliding with
infinite precaution on the surface of the water, hardly stirred: a human
shadow, one would think, a silhouette standing:--a smuggler, surely,
since he makes so little noise! They divine each other, and, thank God!
it is Arrochkoa; Arrochkoa, who has untied a frail, Spanish skiff to
meet him--So, their junction is accomplished and they are probably saved
all, once more!

But Arrochkoa, in meeting him, utters in a wicked voice, in a voice
tightened by his young, feline teeth, one of those series of insults
which call for immediate answer and sound like an invitation to fight.
It is so unexpected that Ramuntcho's stupor at first immobilizes him,
retards the rush of blood to his head. Is this really what his friend
has just said and in such a tone of undeniable insult?--

"You said?"

"Well!" replies Arrochkoa, somewhat softened and on his guard, observing
in the darkness Ramuntcho's attitudes. "Well! you had us almost caught,
awkward fellow that you are!--"

The silhouettes of the others appear in another bark.

"They are there," he continues. "Let us go near them!"

And Ramuntcho takes his oarsman's seat with temples heated by anger,
with trembling hands--no--he is Gracieuse's brother; all would be lost
if Ramuntcho fought with him; because of her he will bend the head and
say nothing.

Now their bark runs away by force of oars, carrying them all; the trick
has been played. It was time; two Spanish voices vibrate on the black
shore: two carbineers, who were sleeping in their cloaks and whom the
noise has awakened!--And they begin to hail this flying, beaconless
bark, not perceived so much as suspected, lost at once in the universal,
nocturnal confusion.

"Too late, friends," laughs Itchoua, while rowing to the uttermost.
"Hail at your ease now and let the devil answer you!"

The current also helps them; they go into the thick obscurity with the
rapidity of fishes.

There! Now they ar