brighter confidence, till the atmosphere is flaming with conviction. If
Jean Jacques started with faint doubt regarding anything, and allowed
himself betimes the flush of a declaration of belief, there could be but
one end. He gathered fire as he moved, impulse expanded into momentum,
and momentum became an Ariel fleeing before the dark. He would start by
offering a finger to be pricked, and would end by presenting his own head
on a charger. He was of those who hypnotize themselves, who glow with
self-creation, who flower and bloom without pollen.

His rejection of the captain's confidence even had a dignity. He took
out his watch which represented so many laborious hours of other
Barbilles, and with a decision in which the strong pulse of chivalry was
beating hard, he said:

"I can never speak well till I have ate. That is my hobby. Well, so it
is. And I like good company. So that is why I sit beside Senor and
Senorita Dolores at table--the one on the right, the other on the left,
myself between, like this, like that. It is dinner-time now here, and
my friends--my dear friends of Cadiz--they wait me. Have you heard the
Senorita sing the song of Spain, m'sieu'? What it must be with the
guitar, I know not; but with voice alone it is ravishing. I have learned
it also. The Senorita has taught me. It is a song of Aragon. It is
sung in high places. It belongs to the nobility. Ah, then, you have not
heard it--but it is not too late! The Senorita, the unhappy ma'm'selle,
driven from her ancestral home by persecution, she will sing it to you as
she has sung it to me. It is your due. You are the master of the ship.
But, yes, she shall of her kindness and of her grace sing it to you. You
do not know how it runs? Well, it is like this--listen and tell me if it
does not speak of things that belong to the old regime, the ancient
noblesse--listen, m'sieu' le captaanne, how it runs: