"
It was the lively voice of Renaud Charron; and the rosy fan of the dawn,
unfolded over the sea and the gray rocks, glanced with a flutter of
shade into the deep-ribbed tree. Affecting a lofty indifference, Carne,
who had a large sense of his own dignity, rose slowly and came out into
the better light. "Sit down, my dear friend," he said, taking the sealed
packet; "there is bread and meat here, and a bottle of good Macon. You
are nearly always hungry, and you must be starved now."
Charron perceived that his mouth was offered employment at the expense
of his eyes; but the kernel of the matter was his own already, and he
smiled to himself at the mystery of his chief. "In this matter, I should
implore the tree to crush me, if my father were an Englishman," he
thought; "but every one to his taste; it is no affair of mine." Just as
he was getting on good terms with his refreshment, Carne came back, and
watched him with a patronising smile.
"You are the brother of my toil," he said, "and I will tell you as
much as it is good for you to know. A few hours now will complete our
enterprise. Napoleon is at Boulogne again, and even he can scarcely
restrain the rush of the spirits he has provoked. The first Division is
on board already, with a week's supplies, and a thousand horses, ready
to sail when a hand is held up. The hand will be held up at my signal,
and that I shall trust you to convey to-night, as soon as I have settled
certain matters.
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