by several paths. The most direct was along the water's side. It had the
advantage of leading to the town and to the church in five minutes'
walk, and the disadvantage of being covered by the sea twice a day. The
other paths were more or less abrupt, and led down to the creek through
gaps in the steep rocks. Even in broad daylight, it was dusk in the
Havelet. Huge blocks overhanging it on all sides, and thick bushes and
brambles cast a sort of soft twilight upon the rocks and waves below.
Nothing could be more peaceful than this spot in calm weather; nothing
more tumultuous during heavy seas. There were ends of branches there
which were always wet with the foam. In the spring time, the place was
full of flowers, of nests, of perfumes, of birds, of butterflies, and
bees. Thanks to recent improvements, this wild nook no longer exists.
Fine, straight lines have taken the place of these wild features;
masonry, quays, and little gardens, have made their appearance;
earthwork has been the rage, and taste has finally subdued the
eccentricities of the cliff, and the irregularities of the rocks below.

II

DESPAIR CONFRONTS DESPAIR

It was a little before ten o'clock in the morning. The crowd at St.
Sampson, according to all appearance, was increasing. The multitude,
feverish with curiosity, was moving towards the north; and the Havelet,
which is in the south, was more deserted than ever.

Notwithstanding this, there was a boat there and a boatman. In the boat
was a travelling bag. The boatman seemed to be waiting for some one.

The _Cashmere_ was visible at anchor in roads, as she did not start till
midday; there was as yet no sign of moving aboard.

A passer-by, who had listened from one of the ladder-paths up the cliffs
overhead, would have heard a murmur of words in the Havelet, and if he
had leaned over the overhanging cliff might have seen, at some distance
from the boat, in a corner among the rocks and branches, where the eye
of the boatman could not reach them, a man and a woman. It was Caudray
and Deruchette.

These obscure nooks on the seashore, the chosen places of lady bathers,
are not always so solitary as is believed. Persons are sometimes
observed and heard there. Those who seek shelter and solitude in them
may easily be followed through the thick bushes, and, thanks to the
multiplicity and entanglement of the paths, the granite and the shrubs
which favour the stolen interview may also favour the wi