"Do you often fish at this hour?" questioned Françoise. "I believe I caught sight of you yesterday pulling round the point."
The man answered only with a grunt.
"Certainly our sailor is no gossip," said Françoise in a whisper to Didier.
They did not again speak to him. They even completely forgot his existence. Didier's arm gently stole round Françoise's waist. Her head lay on his shoulder. A soft and scented breeze was wafted from the gardens at Saint Jean and the terraces at Beaulieu. Their lips met in the glad night as though they were alone.
The uncouth fisherman, a few feet away from them, was deemed as of no importance. Moreover he looked half asleep as he bent over his oars, drowsing in the huge muffler which covered his face. But the man was not slumbering, and in the innermost recesses of his mind he thought: "Love each other. Rejoice like children who are free from care while Chéri-Bibi keeps watch. Let nothing disturb the happiness which you have wrested from fate. I, too, have known those divine moments. I, too, have known what it is to be kissed by a beloved wife. I, too, have felt a beautiful form yield in my arms. I, too, have heard a lover's sighs. Alas, there is an end to all things! Make haste! The most delightful nights are not far distant from the blackest chaos. The abyss lies under your feet. Forget it! Forget it. Nut, as long as you can! I have come from a great distance to remove from your path the cowardly forms clinging to your shadow who are lying in wait for you as for a quarry. Pray to your God in whom you believe, because your cup of happiness is full, that I may save you from evil before even you suspect its presence. Alas, nothing comes more swiftly in the world than misfortune. You are right to forget it lest your fondest kisses be fraught with bitter tears."
Thus Chéri-Bibi's thoughts flowed on in the lyrical and affected style which was usual with him when the occasion did not call upon him to express himself in the most frightful slang.
Those who have known as he knew, both sides of life as a result of complications which they have not sought, and which have sent them astray from their early path, find themselves again with a suddenness which cannot surprise them, either with a heart full of the joys of former times, or else wearing a hideous mask under which Fatality endeavors to suppress their former selves without entirely succeeding.
Chéri-Bibi half saw what was passing in the Nut's elated mind. He was at that moment entirely transported with gratitude to Providence, the Giver of life and death, who had imposed on him such sore trials and made such splendid amends.
This secret pæan to the mighty spirit of goodness rose all the higher, inasmuch as the Nut could consider himself henceforward safe from a recurrence of his evil fortune. As far as the world was concerned the Nut was dead, Chéri-Bibi thought. The newspapers, some months before, had published the glad news:
"The tragedy of the murder of a well-known banker by Raoul de Saint Dalmas," it was reported, "is now doubtless forgotten by the public. It may be stated that the prisoner succeeded in escaping from the convict settlement, but the Penitentiary Authorities have been able to satisfy themselves beyond any doubt that the miscreant perished in the primeval forest like so many other convicts who have attempted the same venture."