Ray. Died! This lady,—do you know her name?
Grap. Oh, sacre, no! ze membrance fail me ver much. Ze beautiful lady,—she was so pale and so young, mine heart feel ver much for her. Her name—sacre!—oh, it have gone from me. She was ze kind lady, for I vas ver sick. Her name—She was ze light—ze light—Oh, sacre! I have ze name. What ze sun do when he shine,—when he shine? He shoot—he shoot de—de—oh, sacre! my poor old head!—He shoots de—
Kitty. Rays?
Grap. Ha, ze little rogue,—ze pooty leetle girl! Zat vas her name,—Ray—Ray—Ray—
Ray. Heavens, man, speak! Was it Raymond?
Grap. Oui, oui! Ze Raymond,—ze beautiful Madam Raymond!
Ray. Gracious heavens! My wife! But the child, old man?—the child?
Grap. Ze child? ah, ze poor lady,—she have made ze grand mistake: she have engage a passage in ze oder ship vich sail ze same day; but ze stupid driver take her to ze wrong ship, too late for her too make ze change. Ze fatal mistake; for ze unlucky ship met wiz disaster upon disaster,—ze very long passage, and ze wreck at last.
John Gale. Long passage! I should think so; six months behind time!
Ray. But the child?