"I ask it for the honour, the repute, of the Service," muttered the old
officer. "After all, M. de Wissant, the poor fellow did not mean much
harm. We sailors have all, at different times of our lives, had some
_bonne amie_ whom we found it devilish hard to leave on shore!"

The Admiral walked slowly towards the door. To-day had aged him years.
Then he turned and looked benignantly at Jacques de Wissant; the man
before him might be stiff, cold, awkward in manner, but he was a
gentleman, a man of honour.

And as he drove to the station to meet the Minister of Marine, Admiral
de Saint Vilquier's shrewd, practical mind began to deal with the
difficult problem which was now added to his other cares. It was
simplified in view of the fact--the awful fact--that according to his
private information it was most unlikely that the submarine would be
raised within the next few hours. He hoped with all his heart that the
twelve men and the woman now lying beneath the sea had met death at the
moment of the collision.

* * * * *

All that summer night the cafes and eating-houses of Falaise remained
open, and there was a constant coming and going to the beach, where many
people, even among those visitors who were not directly interested in
the calamity, camped out on the stones.

The mayor sent word to the Pavillon de Wissant that he would sleep in
his town house, but though he left the town hall at two in the morning
he was back at his post by eight, and he spent there the whole of the
next long dragging day.

Fortunately for him there was little time for thought. In addition to
the messages of inquiry and condolence which went on pouring in,
important members of the Government arrived from Paris and the
provinces.

There also came to Falaise the mother of Commander Dupre, and the father
and brother of Lieutenant Paritot. De Wissant made the latter his
special care. They, the two men, were granted the relief of tears, but
Madame Dupre's silent agony could not be assuaged.

Once, when he suddenly came upon her sitting, her chin in her hand, in
his room at the town hall, Jacques de Wissant shrank from her blazing
eyes and ravaged face, so vividly did they recall to him the eyes, the
face, he had seen that April evening "'twixt dog and wolf," when he had
first leapt upon the truth.

On the third day all hope that there could be anyone still living in the
_Neptune_ was being abandoned, and yet at