remarks in an undertone to the captain, who listened to him
deferentially, apparently regarding his passenger as the commander,
rather than himself. Unobserved in the fog, and skilfully piloted, the
_Claymore_ coasted along the steep shore to the north of Jersey,
hugging the land to avoid the formidable reef of Pierres-de-Leeq, which
lies in the middle of the strait between Jersey and Sark. Gacquoil, at
the helm, sighting in turn Grève de Leeq, Gros Nez, and Plérmont,
making the corvette glide in among those chains of reefs, felt his way
along to a certain extent but with the self-confidence of one familiar
with the ways of the sea.

The corvette had no light forward, fearing to betray its passage
through these guarded waters. They congratulated themselves on the
fog. The Grande Etape was reached; the mist was so dense that the
lofty outlines of the Pinnacle were scarcely visible. They heard it
strike ten from the belfry of Saint-Ouen,--a sign that the wind was
still aft. All was going well; the sea grew rougher, because they were
drawing near La Corbière.

A little after ten, the Count Boisberthelot and the Chevalier de la
Vieuville escorted the man in the peasant garb to the door of his
cabin, which was the captain's own room. As he was about to enter, he
remarked, lowering his voice:--

"You understand the importance of keeping the secret, gentlemen.
Silence up to the moment of explosion. You are the only ones here who
know my name."

"We will carry it to the grave," replied Boisberthelot.