Part 6 (1/2)
”Your promised wife,
”Isabel.”
For a few moments Simon stood dumbfounded. As Isabel had foreseen, the first shock was infinitely painful. His mind was full of conflicting ideas which eluded his grasp. He did not attempt to understand nor did he ask himself whether he approved of Isabel's action. He suffered as he had never known that it was possible to suffer.
And suddenly, in the disorder of his mind, among the incoherent suppositions which occurred to him, there flashed a horrible thought.
It was obvious that Isabel, determined to submit to her father before the scandal of her flight was noised abroad, had conceived the intention of returning to Lord Bakefield. But how would she put her plan into execution? And Simon remembered that Isabel had left the hotel in the most singular fas.h.i.+on, abruptly, on foot and accompanied by a sailor carrying her bag. Now the landing-stage of the Newhaven steamers was close to the hotel; and the night-boat would cast off her moorings in an hour or two.
”Can she be thinking of crossing?” he muttered, shuddering as he remembered the upheavals of the sea and the wreck of the _Queen Mary_.
He rushed towards the quay. Despite Isabel's expressed wish, he intended to see her; and, if she resisted his love, he would at least implore her to abandon the risk of an immediate crossing.
Directly he reached the quay, he perceived the funnels of the Newhaven steamer behind the harbour railway-station. Isabel, without a doubt, was there, in one of the cabins. There were a good many people about the station and a great deal of piled-up luggage. Simon made for the gangway, but was stopped by an official on duty:
”I have no ticket,” said Simon. ”I am looking for a lady who has gone on board and who is crossing to-night.”
”There are no pa.s.sengers on board,” said the official.
”Really? How's that?”
”The boat is not crossing. There have been orders from Paris. All navigation is suspended.”
”Ah!” said Simon Dubosc, with a start of relief. ”Navigation is suspended!”
”Yes; that is to say, as far as the line's concerned.”
”What do you mean, the line?”
”Why, the company only troubles about its own boats. If others care to put to sea, that is their look-out; we can't prevent them.”
”But,” said Simon, beginning to feel uneasy, ”I suppose none has ventured to sail just lately?”
”Yes, there was one, about an hour ago.”
”Oh? Did you see her?”
”Yes, she was a yacht, belonging to an Englishman.”
”Edward Rolleston, perhaps?” cried Simon, more or less at a venture.
”Yes, I believe it was, . . . Rolleston. Yes, yes, that's it: an Englishmen who had just put his yacht in commission.”
Simon suddenly realized the truth. Rolleston, who was staying at Dieppe, happened to hear of Isabel's arrival, called at her hotel and, at her request, gave orders to sail. Of course, he was the only man capable of risking the adventure and of bribing his crew with a lavish distribution of bank-notes.
The young Englishman's behaviour gave proof of such courage and devotion that Simon at once recovered his normal composure. Against Rolleston he felt neither anger nor resentment. He mastered his fears and determined to have confidence.
The clouds were gliding over the town, so low that their black shapes could be distinguished in the darkness of the night. He crossed the front and leant upon the bal.u.s.trade which borders the Boulevard Maritime. Thence he could see the white foam of the heavy breakers on the distant sands and hear their vicious a.s.sault upon the rocks.
Nevertheless, the expected storm was not yet unleashed. More terrible in its continual, nerve-racking menace, it seemed to be waiting for reinforcements and to be delaying its onslaught only to render it more impetuous.