As he spoke there came a long crackle of musketry, and bullets seemed to hop like hailstones on the stones in front of them.
“The gendarmes have joined them!” cried the Professor, and struck his forehead.
“I am in the padded cell,” said Bull solidly.
There was a long silence, and then Ratcliffe said, looking out over the swollen sea, all a sort of grey purple—
“What does it matter who is mad or who is sane? We shall all be dead soon.”
Syme turned to him and said—
“You are quite hopeless, then?”
Mr. Ratcliffe kept a stony silence; then at last he said quietly—
“No; oddly enough I am not quite hopeless. There is one insane little hope that I cannot get out of my mind. The power of this whole planet is against us, yet I cannot help wondering whether this one silly little hope is hopeless yet.”
“In what or whom is your hope?” asked Syme with curiosity.