Don Rosendo did not reply; but after a few more quick steps he turned round, saying:
"Don Melchor must be told that the 'Bella Paula' is coming in."
"I'll go," said a sailor, detaching himself from the crowd, and turning back to the town.
They arrived at the mole. The night was starless, the wind had sunk, the sea was calm. They passed the little old mole, and directed their steps to the end of the new mole, which had been recently built, and stretched some little distance out to sea. Lights from the moored boats shone here and there in the darkness; the thick network of riggings was scarcely discernible, and the hulks looked like formless black masses.
The newcomers did not at first perceive another group of people at the end of the mole until they came upon them. They were all silent, with their eyes fixed on the sea, trying to make out the lines of the ship in the mist. The waves breaking monotonously against the rocks near by occasionally shimmered in the darkness.
"Where is she?" asked several of the comers from the theatre, as they cast their eyes around.
"There!"
"Where?"
"Don't you see a little green light there to the left? Follow my hand."
"Ah! Yes, now I see."