“Caramba!”

“Steer your course to the west.”

“Impossible.”

“As you will.  What I tell you is for the others’ sake.  As for myself, I am indifferent.”

“But, Master Doctor, steer west?”

“Yes, skipper.”

“The wind will be dead ahead.”

“Yes, skipper.”

“She’ll pitch like the devil.”

“Moderate your language.  Yes, skipper.”

“The vessel would be in irons.”

“Yes, skipper.”

“That means very likely the mast will go.”

“Possibly.”

“Do you wish me to steer west?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot.”

“In that case settle your reckoning with the sea.”

“The wind ought to change.”

“It will not change all night.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is a wind twelve hundred leagues in length.”

“Make headway against such a wind!  Impossible.”

“To the west, I tell you.”

“I’ll try, but in spite of everything she will fall off.”

“That’s the danger.”

“The wind sets us to the east.”

“Don’t go to the east.”

“Why not?”

“Skipper, do you know what is for us the word of death?”

“No.”

“Death is the east.”

“I’ll steer west.”

This time the doctor, having turned right round, looked the skipper full in the face, and with his eyes resting on him, as though to implant the idea in his head, pronounced slowly, syllable by syllable, these words,—­

“If to-night out at sea we hear the sound of a bell, the ship is lost.”

The skipper pondered in amaze.

“What do you mean?”

The doctor did not answer.  His countenance, expressive for a moment, was now reserved.  His eyes became vacuous.  He did not appear to hear the skipper’s wondering question.  He was now attending to his own monologue.  His lips let fall, as if mechanically, in a low murmuring tone, these words,—­

“The time has come for sullied souls to purify themselves.”

The skipper made that expressive grimace which raises the chin towards the nose.

“He is more madman than sage,” he growled, and moved off.

Nevertheless he steered west.

But the wind and the sea were rising.

CHAPTER V.

HARDQUANONNE.

The mist was deformed by all sorts of inequalities, bulging out at once on every point of the horizon, as if invisible mouths were busy puffing out the bags of wind.  The formation of the clouds was becoming ominous.  In the west, as in the east, the sky’s depths were now invaded by the blue cloud:  it advanced in the teeth of the wind.  These contradictions are part of the wind’s vagaries.

The sea, which a moment before wore scales, now wore a skin—­such is the nature of that dragon.  It was no longer a crocodile:  it was a boa.  The skin, lead-coloured and dirty, looked thick, and was crossed by heavy wrinkles.  Here and there, on its surface, bubbles of surge, like pustules, gathered and then burst.  The foam was like a leprosy.  It was at this moment that the hooker, still seen from afar by the child, lighted her signal.