A Winter Amid the Ice
CHAPTER I
THE BLACK FLAG
THE curé of the ancient church of Dunkirk rose at five o'clock on the 12th of May, 18—, to perform, according to his custom, low mass for a few pious sinners.
Attired in his priestly robes, he was ready for the altar, when a man entered the sacristy, at once joyous and frightened. He was a sailor of some sixty years, but still vigorous and sturdy, with an open, honest countenance.
"Monsieur the curé," said he, "stop a moment, please."
"What do you want so early in the morning, Jean Cornbutte?" asked the curé.
"Want? Why, to embrace you in my arms, i' faith!"
"Well, after the mass at which you are going to be present——"
"The mass?" returned the old sailor, laughing. "Do you think you are going to say your mass now, and that I will let you do so?"
"And why should I not say my mass?" asked the curé.
"Explain yourself. The third bell has sounded——"
"Whether it has or not," replied Jean Cornbutte, "it will sound many times to-day, monsieur, for you have promised me that you will bless, with your own hands, the marriage of my son Louis and my niece Marie!"
"He has arrived, then," said the curé joyfully.
"It is nearly the same thing," replied Cornbutte, rubbing his hands. "Our brig was signaled from the lookout at sunrise, our brig, which you yourself christened by the good name of the 'Jeune-Hardie'!"
"I congratulate you with all my heart, Cornbutte," said the curé. "I remember our agreement. The vicar will take my place, and I will put myself at your disposal against your dear son's arrival."
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