s to so many perils!"

"We do not regret it, my Louis," replied the father. "Your brig,
the 'Jeune-Hardie,' is securely anchored in the ice sixty leagues
from here. We will rejoin her all together."

"When Courtois comes back he'll be mightily pleased," said Pierre
Nouquet.

A mournful silence followed this, and Penellan apprised Pierre
and Louis of their comrade's death by cold.

"My friends," said Penellan, "we will wait here until the cold
decreases. Have you provisions and wood?"

"Yes; and we will burn what is left of the 'Frooeern.'"

The "Frooeern" had indeed been driven to a place forty miles from
where Louis Cornbutte had taken up his winter quarters. There she
was broken up by the icebergs floated by the thaw, and the
castaways were carried, with a part of the _debris_ of their
cabin, on the southern shores of Shannon Island.

They were then five in number--Louis Cornbutte, Courtois, Pierre
Nouquet, Jocki, and Herming. As for the rest of the Norwegian
crew, they had been submerged with the long-boat at the moment of
the wreck.

When Louis Cornbutte, shut in among the ice, realized what must
happen, he took every precaution for passing the winter. He was
an energetic man, very active and courageous; but, despite his
firmness, he had been subdued by this horrible climate, and when
his father found him he had given up all hope of life. He had not
only had to contend with the elements, but with the ugly temper
of the two Norwegian sailors, who owed him their existence. They
were like savages, almost inaccessible to the most natural
emotions. When Louis had the opportunity to talk to Penellan, he
advised him to watch them carefully. In return, Penellan told him
of Andre Vasling's conduct. Louis could not believe it, but
Penellan convinced him that after his disappearance Vasling had
always acted so as to secure Marie's hand.

The whole day was employed in rest and the pleasures of reunion.
Misonne and Pierre Nouquet killed some sea-birds near the hut,
whence it was not prudent to stray far. These fresh provisions
and the replenished fire raised the spirits of the weakest. Louis
Cornbutte got visibly better. It was the first moment of
happiness these brave people had experienced. They celebrated it
with enthusiasm in this wretched hut, six hundred leagues from
the North Sea, in a temperature of thirty degrees below zero!

This temperature lasted till the end of the moon, and it was not
until about the