The clock in a neighbouring church struck three quarters past five.
"My dear friend, we have but a few minutes left," remarked Henri, holding out his hand to the doctor, who was unable to speak for awhile, so great was his emotion.
"Alas! my dear Henri," he said at last, "I ought to have accustomed myself to the idea of your departure, but you see my courage fails me after all."
"Nonsense, Pierre, I shall see you again in less than two years. This voyage will probably be the last I shall undertake, and then I am coming to take up my abode near you."
"Monsieur, monsieur, the Nantes diligence is coming in," cried the old servant, rushing into the room. "You haven't a minute to lose."
"Farewell, Pierre," said Henri, clasping his friend in a last embrace.
"Farewell. God grant we may meet again, my dear Henri."
A few minutes afterward, Henri David was on his way to Nantes, from which port he was to start on an expedition to Central Africa.
CHAPTER XI.
ONE more drop makes the cup run over, says the proverb. In like manner, the scene that had occurred on the mall at Pont Brillant on St. Hubert's Day had caused the rancour that filled Frederick Bastien's heart to overflow.