With him came a tough, long-legged French
sea-wolf named Yberville, who, though still young, had already won
fame as a privateer commander before the loss of his own ship had
driven him to take service under Blood. The Captain advanced
towards that disputing group, leaning lightly upon his long ebony
cane, his face shaded by a broad-plumed hat. There was in his
appearance nothing of the buccaneer. He had much more the air of
a lounger in the Mall or the Alameda - the latter rather, since
his elegant suit of violet taffetas with gold-embroidered
button-holes was in the Spanish fashion. But the long, stout,
serviceable rapier, thrust up behind by the left hand resting
lightly on the pummel, corrected the impression. That and those
steely eyes of his announced the adventurer.
"You find me ridiculous, eh, Cahusac?" said he, as he came to a halt
before the Breton, whose anger seemed already to have gone out of
him. "What, then, must I find you?" He spoke quietly, almost
wearily. "You will be telling them that we have delayed, and that
it is the delay that has brought about our danger.
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