The last exasperation came when they broke down at Rayeux and wasted nearly an hour. He arrived at his destination at the exact moment at which the Wilhelm der Grosse was scheduled to sail.
Picking up the flowers he had purchased for her, he dashed out of the station and shouldered his way to where some fiacres were standing. Thrusting a twenty-franc note into the nearest cocker’s hand, he startled the man into energy.
What a drive! Of the streets through which they galloped he saw nothing. He was only conscious of people escaping to the pavement and of threats shouted through the sunshine.
When they arrived at the quay, the horse was in a lather. Far off, at the mouth of the harbor in a blue-gold haze, the liner lay black, her smoke-stacks smudging the sky. Snuggled against her were the two tugs which had taken out the passengers. An official-looking person in a peaked cap was standing near to where they had halted.
Did he understand English? Certainly. To the question that followed he answered imperturbably: “Too late, monsieur. It is impossible.”
He gazed round wildly. He must get to her. He must at least let Desire know that he had made the journey.
Above the wall of the quay a head in a yachting-cap appeared. He ran towards it. Stone steps led down to the water’s edge. Against the lowest step a power-boat lay rocking gently with the engine still running. No time to ask permission or to make explanations! He sprang down the steps, flung his roses into the boat, turned on the power and was away.
Shouting behind him grew fainter. Now he heard only the panting of the engine and the swirl of waves. The liner stood up taller. He steered for it straight as an arrow. If he could only get there! The tugs were casting loose. Now they were returning. He wasn’t a quarter of a mile away. He cleared the harbor. The steamer was swinging her nose round. He could see her screws churning. His only chance of stopping her was to cut across her bows.
From crowded decks faces were staring down. Some were laughing; some were pale at his foolhardiness. An officer with a thick German accent was cursing him. He could only hear the accent; he couldn’t make out what the man was saying. What did he care? He had forced them to wait for him. From all that blur of faces he was trying to pick out one face.
Making a megaphone of his hands, he shouted. His words were lost in the pounding of the engines and the lapping of the waves. Then he saw a face which he recognized—Fluffy’s. She was saying something to the officer; she was explaining the situation. Leaning across the rail, laughing, she shook her head. The news of the reason for his extraordinary behavior was passing from mouth to mouth along the decks. The laugh was taken up. The whole ship seemed to hold its sides and jeer at him.