MONSIEUR LEARNS SOMETHING
It was Jacquard who broke, without ceremony, upon his meditations.
“Monsieur le Capitaine,” he began, with an air of some brusqueness.
“Oh, Jacquard,” he replied, abstractedly, “are we well repaired?”
“Monsieur, it is not that. For some days I have wished to see you. There is a muttering in the forecastle. Yan Gratz—”
“Ah! Well—”
“Monsieur, there is nothing upon the surface; from outward view ’tis placid as a pond. But I know. I have ears upon all sides of my head. ’Tis Yan Gratz. You’ve set his value too low. Gratz will not forget the leopard spots upon him. Like the leopard, he will bite, and as stealthily he will crawl.”
“Pardieu, Jacquard, is it so?” Bras-de-Fer lifted his brows. “And what is the grievance now?”
Jacquard scratched his great nose in perplexity before he replied.
“It is the discipline,” he began, slowly—“the discipline which has wearied them; they have
227
