"I suppose you are right," he agreed. "But every evening I shall sit on a certain bench and think of you. And, remember, the first evening on land is mine."
"I shall remember."
"Good-bye till then," he said, and rose.
"Good-bye, my friend."
Her eyes were shining. He dared not trust himself to look at them a second time, but turned himself about, by main force, as it were, and marched himself off, straight along the deck, down the ladder, and up again to "a certain bench."
And there, presently, M. Chevrial joined him, but for once Dan found that witty Frenchman something of a bore.