Then Pierre shut the door; but no sooner was he shut in with his own party than he longed to open it again, for the bustle outside covered their agitation and want of words.

Mme. Rosemilly at last felt she must speak.

“Very little air comes in through those little windows.”

“Port-holes,” said Pierre.  He showed her how thick the glass was, to enable it to resist the most violent shocks, and took a long time explaining the fastening.  Roland presently asked:  “And you have your doctor’s shop here?”

The doctor opened a cupboard and displayed an array of phials ticketed with Latin names on white paper labels.  He took one out and enumerated the properties of its contents; then a second and a third, a perfect lecture on therapeutics, to which they all listened with great attention.  Roland, shaking his head, said again and again:  “How very interesting!” There was a tap at the door.

“Come in,” said Pierre, and Captain Beausire appeared.

“I am late,” he said as he shook hands, “I did not want to be in the way.”  He, too, sat down on the bed and silence fell once more.

Suddenly the Captain pricked his ears.  He could hear the orders being given, and he said: 

“It is time for us to be off if we mean to get on board the Pearl to see you once more outside, and bid you good-bye out on the open sea.”

Old Roland was very eager about this, to impress the voyagers on board the Lorraine, no doubt, and he rose in haste.

“Good-bye, my boy.”  He kissed Pierre on the whiskers and then opened the door.

Mme. Roland had not stirred, but sat with downcast eyes, very pale.  Her husband touched her arm.

“Come,” he said, “we must make haste, we have not a minute to spare.”

She pulled herself up, went to her son and offered him first one and then another cheek of white wax which he kissed without saying a word.  Then he shook hands with Mme. Rosemilly and his brother, asking: 

“And when is the wedding to be?”

“I do not know yet exactly.  We will make it fit in with one of your return voyages.”

At last they were all out of the cabin, and up on deck among the crowd of visitors, porters, and sailors.  The steam was snorting in the huge belly of the vessel, which seemed to quiver with impatience.

“Good-bye,” said Roland in a great bustle.

“Good-bye,” replied Pierre, standing on one of the landing-planks lying between the deck of the Lorraine and the quay.  He shook hands all round once more, and they were gone.

“Make haste, jump into the carriage,” cried the father.

A fly was waiting for them and took them to the outer harbour, where Papagris had the Pearl in readiness to put out to sea.

There was not a breath of air; it was one of those crisp, still autumn days, when the sheeny sea looks as cold and hard as polished steel.