Part 36

“Stay with us one day, father, and if you will but listen to him, and see him, you will love him.”

“Helene, France lies only a few leagues away,” he said gravely.

Helene trembled; then she went to the porthole and pointed to the savannas of green water spreading far and wide.

“There lies my country,” she said, tapping the carpet with her foot.

“But are you not coming with me to see your mother and your sister and brothers?”

“Oh! yes,” she cried, with tears in her voice, “if he is willing, if he will come with me.”

“So,” the General said sternly, “you have neither country nor kin now, Helene?”

“I am his wife,” she answered proudly, and there was something very noble in her tone. “This is the first happiness in seven years that has not come to me through him,” she said--then, as she caught her father’s hand and kissed it--“and this is the first word of reproach that I have heard.”

“And your conscience?”

“My conscience; he is my conscience!” she cried, trembling from head to foot. “Here he is! Even in the thick of a fight I can tell his footstep among all the others on deck,” she cried.

A sudden crimson flushed her cheeks and glowed in her features, her eyes lighted up, her complexion changed to velvet whiteness, there was joy and love in every fibre, in the blue veins, in the unconscious trembling of her whole frame. That quiver of the sensitive plant softened the General.

It was as she had said. The captain came in, sat down in an easy-chair, took up his oldest boy, and began to play with him. There was a moment’s silence, for the General’s deep musing had grown vague and dreamy, and the daintily furnished cabin and the playing children seemed like a nest of halcyons, floating on the waves, between sky and sea, safe in the protection of this man who steered his way amid the perils of war and tempest, as other heads of household guide those in their care among the hazards of common life. He gazed admiringly at Helene--a dreamlike vision of some sea goddess, gracious in her loveliness, rich in happiness; all the treasures about her grown poor in comparison with the wealth of her nature, paling before the brightness of her eyes, the indefinable romance expressed in her and her surroundings.

The strangeness of the situation took the General by surprise; the ideas of ordinary life were thrown into confusion by this lofty passion and reasoning. Chill and narrow social conventions faded away before this picture. All these things the old soldier felt, and saw no less how impossible it was that his daughter should give up so wide a life, a life so variously rich, filled to the full with such passionate love. And Helene had tasted danger without shrinking; how could she return to the pretty stage, the superficial circumscribed life of society?

It was the captain who broke the silence at last.

“Am I in the way?” he asked, looking at his wife.

“No,” said the General, answering for her. “Helene has told me all. I see that she is lost to us--”

“No,” the captain put in quickly; “in a few years’ time the statute of limitations will allow me to go back to France. When the conscience is clear, and a man has broken the law in obedience to----” he stopped short, as if scorning to justify himself.

“How can you commit new murders, such as I have seen with my own eyes, without remorse?”

“We had no provisions,” the privateer captain retorted calmly.

“But if you had set the men ashore--”

“They would have given the alarm and sent a man-of-war after us, and we should never have seen Chili again.”

“Before France would have given warning to the Spanish admiralty--” began the General.

“But France might take it amiss that a man, with a warrant still out against him, should seize a brig chartered by Bordeaux merchants. And for that matter, have you never fired a shot or so too many in battle?”

The General shrank under the other’s eyes. He said no more, and his daughter looked at him half sadly, half triumphant.

“General,” the privateer continued, in a deep voice, “I have made it a rule to abstract nothing from booty. But even so, my share will be beyond a doubt far larger than your fortune. Permit me to return it to you in another form--”

He drew a pile of banknotes from the piano, and without counting the packets handed a million of francs to the Marquis.

“You can understand,” he said, “that I cannot spend my time in watching vessels pass by to Bordeaux. So unless the dangers of this Bohemian life of ours have some attraction for you, unless you care to see South America and the nights of the tropics, and a bit of fighting now and again for the pleasure of helping to win a triumph for a young nation, or for the name of Simon Bolivar, we must part. The long boat manned with a trustworthy crew is ready for you. And now let us hope that our third meeting will be completely happy.”

“Victor,” said Helene in a dissatisfied tone, “I should like to see a little more of my father.”