Neither the noise of the storm nor the frequent clatter of a dish as it fell to the floor disturbed him.

A potboy, rushing past with his arms full of tankards, bumped into the landlord; but not even this aroused him.

His gaze wandered from the right-hand bench to the left-hand bench, and back again, from the nut-brown military countenance of Captain Zachary du Puys, soldier of fortune, to the sea-withered countenance of Joseph Bouchard, master of the good ship Saint Laurent, which lay in the harbor.
"A savage!" said the host.
The soldier lowered his pipe and laughed.

"Put your fears aside, good landlord.

You are bald; it will be your salvation." "Still," said the mariner, his mouth serious but his eyes smiling, "still, that bald crown may be a great temptation to the hatchet.