'What is happening? Have we been arrested?'

'No, Mademoiselle Marianne, taken over, more like. Seems to me Monsieur Surcouf is something of a king in these parts, all these folks is so eager to serve him.'

They were led for some way, passing two more gates and then, still following the line of the wall, bearing right until at last the procession reached a large, rather grim house built of grey granite whose tall windows and lofty doorway adorned with armorial bearings above and a bronze dolphin below pointed to a residence of some importance. Marianne's willing escort thereupon pronounced unanimously that this was it and all that remained to be done was for Gracchus to distribute a number of small coins with the recommendation that the thirstier among them should go and quench their thirst to the health of Baron Surcouf and his friends.

The various persons then dispersed happily, the old salts setting a course for the nearest tavern for a mug of mulled cider, well known to be the most comforting drink in the world when the nor'wester was blowing. Meanwhile, Gracchus had taken hold of the bronze dolphin door-knocker and was gravely asking the ancient serving man who answered it, and who bore a strong suggestion of the retired seaman about him, whether his master was at home to Mademoiselle d'Asselnat. Of all the many names which Marianne had borne, this was certainly the one the privateer knew best.

He was informed that 'Monsieur Surcouf' was at present down at the dry dock but that he would not be long and if the young lady liked she could 'heave to and come aboard', a mode of expression which confirmed Marianne in her first impression of the old man's earlier profession. She was admitted to an entrance hall with a black and white tiled floor and old oak panelling. There was little furniture beyond a sideboard bearing, between a pair of heavy bronze candelabra, a superb model of a flute in full sail, armed for war, gun-ports open and guns run out. A pair of high-back oak chairs stood guard on either side.

The whole house breathed the smell of new wax, suggesting to the visitor that the Baronne was a proud housewife. Indeed, everything about the house shone with cleanliness: even in white gloves it would have been hard to pick up a grain of dust. The effect was striking, but also slightly chilling.

Surcouf's 'cabin', when she was shown into it, turned out to be panelled in the same dark wood as the hall but was altogether more human. It was the room of a man of action, redolent of adventure and the sea and rumbustious life, a cheerfully untidy room, the desk heaped high with maps and compasses, papers, pipes and quills, in the middle of which was a spirit-lamp and a candlestick with a candle and a few sticks of sealing wax. Barbaric, brightly coloured rugs were scattered on the gleaming, polished floor, on which sprawled a huge map of the world, held down by a sextant and a brass meridian. Exotic weapons and tattered colours still with the stains of battle on them were arranged about a large chart on the wall and every piece of furniture in the room, with the exception of a bookcase stuffed with books, was covered with a clutter of telescopes, cases of pistols and instruments of navigation.

Marianne had scarcely seated herself in the straight-backed chair, as rigid as its fellows in the hall, which the old man had brought forward for her before there was a sound of booted feet. A door slammed somewhere and almost at once the big room seemed to fill with a great gust of sea air, smelling of iodine and spindrift, and Surcouf himself burst into his private domain. His arrival reminded Marianne so strongly of what she felt each time Jason appeared that something seemed to twist inside her. They were strangely alike, these men of the sea, as if they bore the insignia of some secret brotherhood to which all belonged. Just how far, she wondered, would that brotherhood carry him?

'Now, here's a surprise!' the privateer cried thunderously. 'You, here in St Malo? I can't believe my eyes!'

'You may quite safely do so,' Marianne said, submitting to a smacking kiss on both cheeks, country fashion. 'I am really here! I hope my coming is not disagreeable to you.'

'Disagreeable! Never think it! It's not every day I get the chance of kissing a princess! Damned if I don't do it again!'

He suited the action to the word and Marianne felt herself blushing. She had announced herself by her maiden name.

'How – how did you know—?'

Surcouf's great laughter rang out so heartily that all the lustres in the crystal chandelier tinkled softly in answer:

'That you were a princess? My dear girl, I do believe you think we Bretons are so cut-off it takes us three or four years to get the latest news from Paris! Not a bit of it! We are well up in all the news. Especially' – and here his joyous laugh boomed out again – 'especially when one numbers Baron Corvisart among one's friends. He attended you a short while ago and I got news of you from him. That is all there is to it. And now sit down and tell me what fair wind blows you here. But first, a glass of port to celebrate your coming.'

While Marianne resumed her seat and tried to get over her surprise, Surcouf went to a carved wooden chest and took out a decanter of dark red Bohemian glass and a pair of tall glasses which he filled three-quarters full of a golden brown liquid. Feeling better already for his bracing presence, Marianne watched his movements with a smile.

Surcouf was never anything less than himself. His broad face, framed in a pair of handsome sidewhiskers, was still the same coppery brown and his blue eyes as direct as ever. He had put on a little weight, perhaps, and his broad chest had filled out until the everlasting blue redingote was bursting at the seams and dragging at the massive gold buttons which, when she looked closer, Marianne saw in a kind of daze were none other than Spanish gold doubloons, pierced for the purpose.

After a ritual toast to the Emperor, they drank their port in silence, nibbling little airy ginger biscuits which seemed to the traveller the most delicious food on earth. Then Surcouf swung round a chair and, seating himself astride it, regarded his young friend with an encouraging smile.

'I asked what wind blew you here,' he said. 'But by the look of you, I'd say it was more in the nature of a heavy squall. Right?'

'A storm would be nearer the truth. In fact, I am beginning to wish I had not come. I'm afraid I may embarrass you – or make you think the worse of me.'

'You could not. And whatever reason brings you here, I'll tell you right away that you did quite right to come. Your own delicacy forbids you to say straight out that you need something of me, but I have no hesitation in telling you I owe my life to you. So let's hear it, Marianne. You know quite well there is nothing that you cannot ask of me.'

'Not even – if I were to ask you to help me arrange a man's escape from the penal colony at Brest?'

For all his self-control, he could not conceal the slight start of shock which set Marianne's heart fluttering anxiously. When he spoke, it was very slowly and deliberately:

'The penal colony at Brest? You know someone in that clutch of felons?'

'Not yet. The man I want to rescue is still on his way there. He was sentenced for a crime he did not commit – he was condemned to death, but the Emperor granted a reprieve because he was sure he did not kill – and perhaps, too, because he is not French. Oh, it is a terribly complicated story, but I must try and explain…'

She was growing muddled and confused already. She could hardly speak for fatigue and emotion and could no longer bring herself to look Surcouf in the face. But he interrupted her, saying roughly: 'Wait a minute! A foreigner? What kind of foreigner?'

'An American. He is a sailor, too…'

There was a crack from the chair-back as Surcouf's fist smashed down on to it:

'Jason Beaufort! Thunder of fate! Why didn't you tell me so at once?'

'You know him?'

He got up so suddenly that he knocked over his chair but, ignoring it, he answered: 'It is my business to know every captain of every vessel worth the name both sides of the equator. Beaufort is a fine sailor and a brave man. His trial was a blot on French justice! In fact, I wrote to the Emperor and told him so.'

'You did?' Marianne exclaimed in a choking voice. 'D-did he answer you?'

Told me to mind my own business. Or words to that effect. You know he's not one to beat about the bush. But how comes it about that you are acquainted with the fellow? I thought you were – that is, I believed you to be on terms with His Majesty? I even thought of writing to you to ask for your help, but the business of the counterfeit money decided me against it. I feared to cause you embarrassment. Now here you are, come to ask me to help you help Beaufort to escape, you—'

'Napoleon's mistress!' Marianne finished for him sadly. 'Things have altered since our last meeting, my friend. I am no longer quite such a favourite at court.'

'Suppose,' Surcouf suggested, reaching for his chair and setting it on its feet once more before turning back to the chest where he kept his port, 'you were to tell me all about it. I'm a true Breton, you know, and we all dearly love a good story.'

Heartened by another glass of wine and a fresh supply of biscuits, Marianne embarked on a somewhat tangled account of her relations with Jason and of her recent dealings with the Emperor. However, the port soon exercised a warming effect and in the end she acquitted herself reasonably well in the ordeal. When she finished, Surcouf's comment was typical of the man: