The horrors of the storm, of the shipwreck, the prospect of death, were to me as nothing to this meeting.
Marc and Cécile!
In a few seconds I was safe on the deck of the Lépante.
M. André, the crew, the spectators, were horror-struck.
A man goes mad in an instant. Marc was again raving, as he had raved in the madhouse at Bénévent. But the sight of Cécile had given purpose to his language.
“Vengeance—vengeance! Fiend! The time has come! Fate—fate has brought us together! I could not escape you! I must kill you—kill you! We must be damned together! Hark at the roar of the waters! Hark at the wailing of the winds! Our shroud!—our dirge!—our requiem! that tells us of hell! for I am a murderer, and you—”
He had the strength of ten strong men.
It took that number to hold him.
The wretched André fell prone in a swoon.