“When shall we see land?” asked the young girl.
“In three or four days at the latest,” replied Jean Cornbutte.
“But shall we find there fresh traces of my poor Louis?”
“Perhaps so, my daughter; but I fear that we are still far from the end of our voyage. It is to be feared that the ‘Froöern’ was driven farther northward.”
“That may be,” added André Vasling, “for the squall which separated us from the Norwegian boat lasted three days, and in three days a ship makes good headway when it is no longer able to resist the wind.”
“Permit me to tell you, Monsieur Vasling.” replied Penellan, “that that was in April, that the thaw had not then begun, and that therefore the ‘Froöern’ must have been soon arrested by the ice.”
“And no doubt dashed into a thousand pieces,” said the mate, “as her crew could not manage her.”
“But these ice-fields,” returned Penellan, “gave her an easy means of reaching land, from which she could not have been far distant.”
“Let us hope so,” said Jean Cornbutte, interrupting the discussion, which was daily renewed between the mate and the helmsman. “I think we shall see land before long.”
“There it is!” cried Marie. “See those mountains!”