"Oh, no, not the army alone; there's the navy--and there's the French
navy! It's the best navy in the world, the freest and the greatest,
and with Bonaparte going at us, England will have enough to do--too much,
I'm thinking. So there's a career in the French navy open. And listen--
before you and I are two months older, the French navy will be in the
harbours of Ireland, and the French army will land here." He reached out
and grasped Dyck's arm. "There's no liberty of freedom under the Union
Jack. What do you think of the tricolour? It's a great flag, and under
it the world is going to be ruled--England, Spain, Italy, Holland,
Prussia, Austria, and Russia--all of them. The time is ripe. You've got
your chance. Take it on, dear lad, take it on."

Dyck did not raise his head. He was leaning forward with both arms on
the table, supporting himself firmly; his head was bowed as though with
deep interest in what Boyne said. And, indeed, his interest was great--
so great that all his manhood, vigour, all his citizenship, were vitally
alive. Yet he did not lift his head.

"What's that you say about French ships in the harbours of Ireland?" he
said in a tone that showed interest. "Of course, I know there's been a
lot of talk of a French raid on Ireland, but I didn't know it was to be
so soon."

"Oh, it's near enough! It's all been arranged," replied Boyne.
"There'll be ships-war-ships, commanded by Hoche. They'll have orders
to land on the coast, to join the Irish patriots, to take control of
the operations, and then to march on--"

He was going to say "march on Dublin," but he stopped. He was playing a
daring game. If he had not been sure of his man, he would not have been