"It is impossible to say yet," replied Baptiste. "Yellow fever always comes in waves; it subsides and intensifies alternately."
"You see, comrade," said Duval, "that even if we include you four, we are now very short handed. If we lose a few more men, we cannot sail this barque to Europe. I have decided to run back to Rio as soon as a breeze springs up."
When the mate left him, Baptiste went in search of Carew, and found him in the captain's cabin, watching the sick man, who was now lying insensible in the last stage of the fever.
Baptiste looked into the pain-distorted face. "He will go soon," he whispered to Carew.
Carew nodded.
"That was a clever idea of yours, sir," said the Frenchman.
"What idea?"
"To constitute yourself ship's doctor."
Carew made no reply, but he understood what the remark signified. Baptiste, however, had misjudged him. With his usual inconsistency in crime, far from availing himself of his opportunities to poison the men, he had, on the contrary, risked his life and done his utmost to save the captain and the others under his charge. He was happier and was pleased with himself while acting thus, though he was also glad to find that his patients died despite his efforts. He seemed to imagine that he was driving a bargain with avenging Heaven—that he could set off his present righteous conduct against his other crimes. Men who reason with the greatest clearness on all other matters, often become insanely illogical when a guilty conscience asks for soothing casuistry.