"And where is your brother? He should come, too. I hear you have both been in this matter."
"Ah, monsieur!" she said, with brimming eyes and a pathetic little lift and fall of the hand, which expressed far more than she could put into words. "We fear ... we fear he is drowned. He swam out to the rock taking food, and ... and ... we have not seen him since;" and her hand was over her face and the tears streaming through.
"Mon Dieu! Another!" said the Sénéchal, aghast. "When, child? When was this?"
"The night after the storm, monsieur."
"Perhaps he is there, on the rock."
"No, monsieur. I was over there myself last night. He never got there, and we fear he must be drowned."
"You were over there, child? Why, how did you get across?"
"I swam, monsieur;" and he stared at her in amazement.
"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! You make up for some of the others," he said bluntly. "Come then, and we will make sure of this one, anyhow;" and he led the way to John de Carteret's boat, and all the people gave them a cheer as they pulled out of the harbour to catch the breeze off the Lâches.
Then the crowd waited for their return, and talked by snatches of all these strange happenings, and discussed and discounted the chances of Bernel's being still alive.