The sea, perfectly calm, was like a peaceful lake, and its soft murmurs were scarcely audible. The waves seemed to sleep. A line of darker blue marked the curve of the horizon.
The watchman looked anxiously at the windows of Maison-Forte, which were all brilliantly illuminated.
By degrees, his eyelids grew heavy.
Attributing the sensation of heaviness in his head to the wine, which he had partaken of in moderation, he began to walk about briskly, but, notwithstanding his persistent efforts, he felt a sort of lassitude stealing through all his limbs. His sight began to grow dim; he was obliged to return and sit down on his bench.
For some minutes he struggled with all his might against this numbness which was gradually taking possession of all his faculties.
Finally, although his reason commenced to share this state of general stupor, he had the presence of mind to go in his cabin and plunge his head in a basin of ice-cold water.
This immersion seemed for some moments to restore to him the use of his senses.
“Miserable creature I am! What have I done!” cried he. “I have made myself drunk—”
He took a few more steps, but was obliged to sit down again.
The soporific, thwarted in its effect for a moment, redoubled its power over him. Leaning back against the wall of his cabin, he retained perception enough to be the witness of a spectacle which overwhelmed him with rage and despair.