emed about
to depart; and now her joy, a joy such as she had never known before,
founded on an inexplicable enigma; the monster of last night himself
restoring her lover; marriage arising out of her torture; this Gilliatt,
the evil destiny of last night, become to-day her saviour! She could
explain nothing to her own mind. It was evident that all the morning
Gilliatt had had no other occupation than that of preparing the way for
their marriage: he had done all: he had answered for Mess Lethierry,
seen the Dean, obtained the licence, signed the necessary declaration;
and thus the marriage had been rendered possible. But Deruchette
understood it not. If she had, she could not have comprehended the
reasons. They did nothing but close their eyes to the world,
and--grateful in their hearts--yield themselves up to the guidance of
this good demon. There was no time for explanations, and expressions of
gratitude seemed too insignificant. They were silent in their trance of
love.

The little power of thought which they retained was scarcely more than
sufficient to guide them on their way--to enable them to distinguish the
sea from the land, and the _Cashmere_ from every other vessel.

In a few minutes they were at the little creek.

Caudray entered the boat first. At the moment when Deruchette was about
to follow, she felt her sleeve held gently. It was Gilliatt, who had
placed his finger upon a fold of her dress.

"Madam," he said, "you are going on a journey unexpectedly. It has
struck me that you would have need of dresses and clothes. You will find
a trunk aboard the _Cashmere_, containing a lady's clothing. It came to
me from my mother. It was intended for my wife if I should marry.
Permit me to ask your acceptance of it."

Deruchette, partially aroused from her dream, turned towards him.
Gilliatt continued, in a voice which was scarcely audible:

"I do not wish to detain you, madam, but I feel that I ought to give you
some explanation. On the day of your misfortune, you were sitting in the
lower room; you uttered certain words; it is easy to understand that you
have forgotten them. We are not compelled to remember every word we
speak. Mess Lethierry was in great sorrow. It was certainly a noble
vessel, and one that did good service. The misfortune was recent; there
was a great commotion. Those are things which one naturally forgets. It
was only a vessel wrecked among the rocks; one cannot be always thinking
of an ac