"Here you are," he said: "I've done with it; can't waste words."
"Sir," the Commodore answered, bowing, "believe me, I receive it with
little gratification. The victory is ours, no doubt; but the honour
of it you have wrested from us. Sir, I am a Frenchman; but I am a
sailor, too; and my heart swells over such a feat as yours.
Suffer me, then, to remind you that your present captivity is but the
fortune of war, against which you have struggled heroically; that
your self-sacrifice has saved your fleet; and that, as France knows
how to appreciate gallantry in her adversaries, your bondage shall be
merely nominal."
"H'mph," said the little man, "fine talk, sir, fine talk! As for the
ships, I saw the last of 'em slip into the Thames ten minutes since,
from my cabin window. Sorry to keep you parleying so long, but
couldn't come out before."
He blew his nose violently, cocked his head on one side, and added--
". . . though, to be sure, sir, your words are devilish kind--
devilish kind, 'pon my soul!"
M. de la Pailletine, with a pleasant smile, held out his sword to
him.
"Take it back, monsieur--take back a weapon no man better deserves to
wear. Forget that you are my prisoner: and, if I may beg it,
remember rather that you are my friend.
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