"What are you doing?" cried Murat. "Do you forget that I am king and
that I command you?"

"Sire," said Donadieu, "there is a king more powerful than you--God;
there is a voice which drowns yours--the voice of the tempest: let us
save your Majesty if possible, and demand nothing more of us."

Just then a flash of lightning quivered along the horizon, a clap of
thunder nearer than the first one was heard, a light foam appeared on the
surface of the water, and the boat trembled like a living thing. Murat
began to understand that danger was approaching, then he got up smiling,
threw his hat behind him, shook back his long hair, and breathed in the
storm like the smell of powder--the soldier was ready for the battle.

"Sire," said Donadieu, "you have seen many a battle, but perhaps you have
never watched a storm if you are curious about it, cling to the mast, for
you have a fine opportunity now."

"What ought I to do?" said Murat. "Can I not help you in any way?"

"No, not just now, sire; later you will be useful at the pumps."

During this dialogue the storm had drawn near; it rushed on the
travellers like a war-horse, breathing out fire and wind through its
nostrils, neighing like thunder, and scattering the foam of the waves
beneath its feet.

Donadieu turned the rudder, the boat yielded as if it understood the
necessity for prompt obedience, and presented the poop to the shock of
wind; then the squall passed, leaving the sea quivering, and everything