"Heaven does
seem to be with us, and it is apparently for our sake that this rock
emerged from the waves as a snug little boudoir for our European
rendezvous. Bonaparte may often enough cast angry glances in this
direction, but the lightning of his eyes and the thunder of his
words do not reach our sea-girt asylum, which God Himself has built
and furnished for us. Grim Bonaparte cannot hurt us here, but we
will try to hurt him, and one day he will find out what we are doing
at the political boudoir of Helgoland."
"Look," exclaimed his friend, "the two ships have reached the island
at the same time, and are now anchoring."
"They are lowering their boats," exclaimed the third speaker. "The
passengers are going ashore."
"Let us go to the place agreed upon, and see whether they are the
brethren we are looking for," said the first speaker.
"Yes, let us go," exclaimed his two companions.
Without exchanging another word, they turned and walked hastily
through the busy crowds to the staircase leading from the upper part
of the island to the lower shore. Here they passed through the
streets of small, neat fishermen's huts, and then entered the last
building. A footman in a gorgeous livery received them in the small
hall, and opened with reverential politeness the door leading into
the only room of the hut. The three men walked in, and locked the
door carefully.
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