There is but one people on earth in whose blood is mingled fire and ice--the French.
When we reached the water, we found that the running tide had carried the boat a short distance down-stream, but Bettina was standing on the stern thwart, bending this way and that in her endeavor to scull back to the landing by means of the steering oar.

Every drop of blood in Bettina's plump little body was worth its weight in triple fine gold to us that night, for she brought the boat back to us without delay, and George helped Frances aboard while I ran to the foot of the privy stairs, shouting loudly:-- "Come on, Berkeley! Come quickly!" Usually I think of the right thing to say a fortnight after the opportunity, but this once the name Berkeley came to me in the nick of time, and I evened my score with its possessor for many a dirty trick he had put upon me.

To suspect was to condemn with Charles, and I knew that if he heard me call Berkeley's name, that consummate villain would suffer the royal frown.

And so he did, never having been able to explain, nor deny, satisfactorily to the king, his presence at the head of the privy stairs that night.

But to return to the fight.
De Grammont heard my summons, came down the stairs three steps at a time, and sprang into the boat from the landing.
"The oars! The oars!" cried Hamilton.
"Death is between them and us!" cried De Grammont.
"Let us go!" cried Betty.