Chapter X

The sky seemed to mock them. Swept by the winds, it was of a limpid blue, that deep summer blue which is mirrored back on the surface of the sea.

Two leagues on their way the sailors came in sight of a village. From the height where they were they could see it beneath them, nestling in a hollow of the cliff. It was a coast village, without harbor or boats. The houses were clustered together, half-hidden by tender foliage. Here, at least, one should be happy. The fishers earned their living from the beach, without fear of tempests, and this peaceful nook at this early morning hour, sparkling in the sunlight, seemed so cheerful that the men stopped, moved by a vague longing for comfort and rest.

They were trying to pick out the tavern, when Florimond overtook them. He was in no mood to enjoy seeing others happy, and his ill-humor awoke at the sight of the peaceful picture below them.

“No, truly, we will not let them see our wretchedness. We can avoid the village by turning off through the fields. These landlubbers, who stuff themselves until they fall asleep, would be only too happy to see a procession of shipwrecked mariners. People who are fortunate love to make merry over the troubles of others. Go on, my lads--starboard.”

The men did not agree with him. When they left the boat they became their own masters again, and proposed to make use of their liberty. A sailor ashore has no captain but his own inclination.

Barnabé spoke up:

“Are these landlubbers going to prevent our having a drink?”

And they all began the descent.

“You pack of dry gullets,” cried Florimond; “may you be soaked with water like an old swab!”

Then in a rage, he turned toward the fields.

Elise could not resist a feeling of pity to see him set off deserted by them all. Frank and tender-hearted, she was wretched at the sight of this strong man so upset by ill-fortune; this captain, so proud and confident in his warfare with the sea, so pitiable in his trouble. She suffered from his unjust suspicions, but in spite of all, she was not able to repress the impulses of her generous nature. Involuntarily, in an outburst of sympathy, she went to him.

“Cousin Florimond, let me go with you. You will not be so lonely if we are together!”

“Get away, traitress, get away.”

He could not utter another word. His eyes were bloodshot. His lips stammered out weak abuse. He raised his hand high above his head, then let it fall against his side, and turning, hurried away through the bright sunshine.

“You are unjust to me, Cousin Florimond.”

Elise dropped down on the bank by the roadside. For some minutes she watched his disappearing figure. She admired him so much that in her inmost heart she forgave him.

She laid her kit beside her, and leaned on her elbow, resting her head on her hand. Her thoughts were sad. But presently her eye turned toward the deep blue sky overhead, where the white clouds were sailing, then to the north, where the cliffs fell away and the dunes began, then to the horizon, where the Bay of Somme indented the sandy coast. She rose to her feet. Down yonder, beyond the dark mass of St. Valery, on the other side of the white line which marked the bay, she might perhaps be able to make out the steeple of Crotoy, with its fortress-like tower. No. In this strong sunlight everything was blurred. Through the warm, palpitating air, even objects best known and most loved were indistinct.

But, as if it were before her, she saw in her own mind her native village and the empty cottage. Might she not cherish a little hope? Who could tell! Perhaps Firmin had met some friendly boat, which had taken him aboard. Perhaps he was already at home and impatient at his sister’s delay, this lad who was so little used to waiting.

She would have liked to believe it, but she had had so little happiness that she was distrustful.

But if Firmin were not there Silvere would be, and he would understand and help her. There was one person, at least, in the world, who loved her. For, as to her boy, she knew well that she lavished on him more tenderness than he would ever give back. Perhaps he had already fallen in love with a life of adventure on the _flambart_ and forgotten his home. He was so strong and confident.

At the very thought of such a desertion Elise began to tremble. No. The boy was obstinate, but he had a good heart. He would surely come back. It was more likely that he was unhappy, and calling despairingly for his sister. His last cry of distress on the deck of the _flambart_ still rang in her ears.

From their description of her, it was known at the bureau at Treport that the _flambart_ belonged to one of the principal ship-owners of the large seaport of Escaut. This reassured her. She would know where to make inquiries. The owners of the boat had always preferred to pay damages rather than to risk coming into court in such a case as theirs was now.

Filled with hope, Elise took up her march. In a breath she had passed the village, and leaving the sea turned inland along the St. Valery road, which, dusty and interminable, stretched away between two rows of trees, stunted and twisted by the west wind.

Five leagues of this gloomy journey passed. Elise was more tired in heart than in body. The country did not interest her in the least. It seemed shut in and contracted. One could see only patches of the sky; the air was close and heavy. The horizon could be almost touched by the hand. The soil was so poor, so hard to till, that it was cultivated only in small patches; the plough furrows were hardly a cable’s length. What a contrast to the open sea. How the chest expanded there! What mighty breaths one drew! And one took less time to turn a sea furrow from north to south than it would require to plough a field no longer than a harbor.

Chap. 10.]

Sea life is broad and generous. It stirs one’s mental activity, while it strengthens one’s body. Elise was in haste to see it again, this sea, as beautiful in its rage as when at peace; this sea, which had made her courageous and strong, and would make Firmin courageous and strong also.

At last, at a turn of the road, the whole Bay of Somme, with its quiet waves gliding under the rays of the setting sun, lay, before her. Bathed in a golden mist, she saw, across the bay, the little village with its white houses; she recognized the little cottage hidden away behind the sandy hillocks half way up the dunes. Was the chimney smoking? Could Firmin have returned? No, it was a house adjoining. The cottage was still empty. She would sleep alone in it that night.

But she could not sleep. Overcome by her emotion, troubled at heart, feverish after her long tramp, Elise sought in vain for the sleep that eluded her. Never had her room seemed so lonely, so disquieting as now. A ray of moonlight, entering through the window-panes, fell across its shadows.

At first the melancholy of the night induced wandering thoughts. Then she gazed at the door and window, which seemed to vibrate in the trembling moonlight. Then, as her eyes accustomed themselves to the shadows, Elise was seized with a sort of supernatural terror. She was not asleep, but her open eyes seemed to behold the unreal substance of dreams.

“Father, is it you? Father, answer me!”

She thought herself asleep. It is only in dreams that one has visions of the dead. She looked all around the room to be certain that she was actually awake.

Yes, she was awake. In the soft light of the moon she recognized distinctly, one after the other, familiar objects, just as she had found them on her return: the little bed where Firmin slept, in the closet under the garret stairs; the large sideboard, where, under a glass, was her mother’s marriage bouquet, a huge rose with gold leaves, and on either side of it the two candlesticks. Nets and fishing implements hung on the walls or from the beams of the ceiling. All these old friends of her past life she saw clearly, each outline and color distinct.

No, she was not asleep, but none the less she could not look toward the door without seeing before her a face sweet and sad, clear-eyed and wrinkled.

“Father, what do you wish?”

For the first time since she had lost her father Elise saw him again, just as he was in life, with his otter hat, his red neckerchief, and his brown shirt. He complained softly that she had bestowed all her care on Firmin and had left him, her father, to lie in the sands at the bottom of the sea. She had not made every possible effort with the authorities to have the place dragged, as had been done before, so that his body might be recovered and laid in holy ground, where his soul could rest in peace.

And he told her punishment. Elise should not see again the brother whom she had too jealously loved, until she had earned him by her filial devotion. Unhappy Elise! She was seated on her bed, and her two hands stretched toward the spectre, which would not leave her; she poured out, with all the confidence of a soul possessed, her excuses, her promises, her prayers.

“Father, I swear to you that I will know no rest until I have laid you beside mother.”

Then, as if the spectre had moved into the moonlight, it suddenly became distinct.

Elise had seen it up to this time only through the enveloping shadows which softened the rough outlines, but in this new light the figure seemed drawn by suffering. The complexion, formerly bronzed by the sea, was pale, the wrinkles were deep-set, the cheeks, once so full of laughter and health, were thin from long agony, and the eyes which a moment ago, in the shadow, seemed full of a caressing light, were now sunken and full of reproachful sadness and melancholy resignation.

Emaciated, and with face nearly as white as beard and hair, her father seemed to have arisen from the sleepless night of a long illness. He could not rest in his sandy prison under the sea, with its endless currents, the sport of waves, fought over by sea monsters. They cannot cry like sea birds, these voracious dogs of the sea, but their battles are no less noisy. How could a soul rest in peace among them?

Elise had noted all the marks of suffering on the pale face, she had read there all his reproaches. She knew now too late, that she should, before anything else, have sought her father’s body, that she might lay it in consecrated ground.

“Father, father, I swear to lay you to rest in the churchyard. And after that you will let me see Firmin again?”

And not to delay for a moment the execution of her oath, Elise put on her dress and went out.