His departure only intensified our apprehensions as to the gravity of the situation. What had seemed to us at first picturesque, then threatening, assumed alarming proportions. The gale too, during luncheon, had gone on increasing. Great puffs of smoke belched from the throat of the chimney into the room, and we heard the thrash of the rain and shrill wails of the burglarious wind rising and falling as it fingered the cracks and crevices of the old building. Now and then an earthen tile would be ripped from the roof and sent crashing into the court. “By Jove!—just hear that wind!” followed by an expectant silence, interrupted almost every remark.
As the fury of the storm increased we noticed that a certain nervous anxiety had taken possession of our pretty Mignon, who, at one crash louder than the others, so far forgot herself as to go to the window, trying to peer out between the bowed shutters, her baffled eyes seeking Leà’s for some comforting assurance, the older woman, without ceasing her ministrations to our needs, patting the girl’s shoulder in passing.
Suddenly the great outside door of the court, which had been closed to break the force of the wind, gave way with a bang; then came the muffled cry of a man in distress, and Gaston burst in, clad in oilskins, his south-wester tied under his chin, rivers of rain pouring from his hat and overalls. Mignon gave a half-smothered sob of relief and would have sunk to the floor at his feet had not Leà caught her.
The young fisherman staggered back against the edge of the fire-jamb, his hand on his chest.
“It’s madame la marquise!” he gasped. He had run the two miles from Buezval and had barely breath enough to reach the Inn. “I came for Monsieur Lemois! There isn’t a moment to lose—the sea is now up to the porch. She is lost if you wait!”
“Madame lost!” we cried in unison.
“No,” he panted, “the house. She is not there. Find Monsieur Lemois!—all of you must come!”
Le Blanc was out of his chair before Gaston had completed his sentence.
“Get your coats and meet me at the garage!” he shouted. “I’ll run the motor out; we’ll be there in ten minutes! My coat too, Leà!” and he slammed the door behind him.
The old woman clattered upstairs into the several rooms for our ulsters and water-proofs, but Mignon sat still, too overjoyed to move or speak. Gaston, she knew, was going out into the rain again, but he was safe on the land now and not on a fishing craft, fighting his way into the harbor, as she had feared all day. The young fellow looked at her from under the brim of his dripping south-wester, but there was no word of recognition, though he had come as much to tell her he was safe as to summon us to madame’s villa. I caught her lifted eyes and the furtive glance of gratitude she gave him.