Ever since La Belle Arlésienne had dropped Martinique behind her this longing had been living and growing in his heart; the treasure fever had obscured it, the storm had veiled it, the finding of the treasure had pushed it aside, but it was there, growing, and patiently waiting. It was the master passion of his life, the thing beside which all other things were nothing, though for a moment they might veil it, as a cloud veils a star, or a mist a mountain.
He turned away from the treasure and walked towards the bushes, then he began to cross the islet, taking the path that Sagesse’s sailors had made for the boat. Though he was profoundly engaged in thought, he noticed quite little things, as, for instance, that the salt crystals were nearly gone from the leaves of the bay-cedar bushes.
Half way across, where a view of the northern horizon could be obtained, he raised his head and scanned the sea line. Nothing—nothing—Ah! stop! What was that?
A tiny flake of feldspar seemed clinging to the sky horizon in N.N.W. In the wonderful half wheel of crystal blue this microscopic flaw might have been passed over by a casual observer. Gaspard folded his arms and stood gazing at this speck, his lips parted in a half smile, his eyes fixed. Had you been close to him, you would have noticed that he scarcely breathed.
The thing did not seem to alter in shape or increase in size, yet he knew that it represented the topsails of a ship hull down on the horizon. It was just so that he had first glimpsed La Belle Arlésienne from the open boat.
Then it increased in size. After keeping him in suspense for what seemed an age, suddenly his brain was able to say of the vision upon his retina, “It is bigger.”
Then, as he watched it increase, all doubt passed: It was a vessel of some sort steering southward. The wind was blowing now steady from E.S.E.; she would pass the island to westward, perhaps quite close, for it was all deep water there.
His mind, up to the moment of sighting the sail, had been filled with the thought of Marie, the craving for her had brought him here to look out for a sail. Now, after the first joyous leap of the heart, Marie was for the moment forgotten. It was as though the sail space on the sky had been a doorway through which the world had rushed in upon him.
He turned and ran back to the southern beach, picked up the treasure bundle and forced it into his pocket, picked up the jewelled snake and placed it round his neck under his shirt.
The collar of the flannel shirt scarcely concealed it; it would never do to board a vessel with such a gem so lightly concealed, so, hurriedly, with absurd haste, as though the ship were already abreast of the island and there was not a moment to lose, he stripped off his coat and shirt. For a moment he thought of placing it round his waist, but it was not long enough to serve as a belt—then he did what the jeweller who had designed the thing intended its wearer to do—made an armlet of it.