"Ah! is it you? Good-day, good-day. You have not been here for a long time."
"Yes, but your boat—quick—to the island."
"Ah, well! fate will have it so; my good girl, it is impossible to-day."
"How?"
"My boy has taken my boat to go with the others to a rowing match at Saint Ouen. There is not a single boat left on the whole shore from this to the docks."
"Zounds!" cried La Louve, stamping and clinching her fists; "it happens so expressly for me!"
"It's true, on my word. I am very sorry I cannot convey you to the island, for, without doubt, he must be worse."
"Worse! Who?"
"Martial."
"Martial?" cried La Louve, seizing Ferot by the collar; "is Martial sick?"