“What sort of man is he?”
“He is a dark man, broad-shouldered, bull-necked.”
A little cloud at that moment passed across the azure, darkening the sun. Gourville, who was still looking, with one hand over his eyes, became able to see what he sought, and all at once, jumping from the deck into the chamber where Fouquet awaited him: “Colbert!” said he, in a voice broken by emotion.
“Colbert!” repeated Fouquet. “Too strange! but no, it is impossible!”
“I tell you I recognized him, and he, at the same time, so plainly recognized me, that he is just gone into the chamber on the poop. Perhaps the king has sent him on our track.”
“In that case he would join us, instead of lying by. What is he doing there?”
“He is watching us, without a doubt.”
“I do not like uncertainty,” said Fouquet; “let us go straight up to him.”
“Oh! monseigneur, do not do that, the lighter is full of armed men.”
“He wishes to arrest me, then, Gourville? Why does he not come on?”