From the streets of Dunkirk sounded the cheerful bustle of the
morning's business; and as Tristram glanced up at the glistening
spire of the Jesuits' church, its clock struck out eleven o'clock as
merrily as if it played a tune.
It was just at this moment, as he turned to dip his brush, that he
caught sight of a small boat approaching across the basin. It was
rowed by a waterman, and in the stern-sheets there sat a figure the
sight of which caused Tristram's heart to stop beating for a moment,
and then to resume at a gallop. He caught hold of the rope by which
he hung, and looked again.
Beyond a doubt it was his father, Roderick Salt!
Now just as Tristram underwent this shock of surprise, from a point
about three yards above his head another person was watching the boat
with some curiosity. This was the Commodore, M. de la Pailletine,
who stood on the poop with his feet planted wide and his hands
clasped beneath his coat-tails. He was wondering who this visitor
could be.
Captain Salt was elegantly dressed, and the cloak thrown back from
his broad chest revealed a green suit, thick with gold lace, and a
white waistcoat also embroidered with gold. The bullion twinkled in
the sunshine as the boat drew near and, crossing under Tristram's
dangling heels, dropped alongside the galley.
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