"What a pity it's dark," exclaimed the warder. "We might have seen if the sea is red."
"Oh, never fear," returned Pernambouc. "That's another one dead and in his grave." And he walked away singing to himself:
"I go to Trouville, to Etretat,
I cut a dash like President Faure,
I go about like the head of the State. . . .
The Nuts lost his, nut! . . . He'll swank no more!"
But the Nut was not dead. Before he touched water he had ripped open the sack with his knife.
He at once swam under water, making a vigorous effort to reach the spot where he believed the launch was moored. . . . No launch was there!
But in her place a shark was swimming towards him, a shark who had already turned on its back, its jaws wide open like a yawning gulf.
The Nut understood what tactics should be followed. They were the chief topic of conversation during the time the convicts were "resting." He dived and passed under the shark. The monster lost the scent and hunted its prey on the other side of the jetty.
But what was he to do? From his position he could see the warder seated on the top of the steps by which alone he could land on the jetty.
He dived again and swam under water, intending to get back as quickly as he could to the beach, at the rear of the warder, by swimming round the jetty if the sharks gave him sufficient time!
Not for a second did it enter his mind to surrender in order to get out of his awful plight. Rather a thousand deaths than return again to the life of the penal settlement. He might reach the beach in time to meet Pernambouc with his new load, and save Chéri-Bibi from the terrible danger to which he himself had been exposed. . . . They would hide themselves once more. . . . And the launch would return.