“A ship!” exclaimed Servadac, starting to his feet. “A ship! Ben Zoof, you donkey! you speak as unconcernedly as though you were telling me that my dinner was ready.”
“Are we not philosophers, captain?” said the orderly.
But the captain was out of hearing.
CHAPTER IX. INQUIRIES UNSATISFIED
Fast as his legs could carry him, Servadac had made his way to the top of the cliff. It was quite true that a vessel was in sight, hardly more than six miles from the shore; but owing to the increase in the earth’s convexity, and the consequent limitation of the range of vision, the rigging of the topmasts alone was visible above the water. This was enough, however, to indicate that the ship was a schooner—an impression that was confirmed when, two hours later, she came entirely in sight.
“The Dobryna!” exclaimed Servadac, keeping his eye unmoved at his telescope.
“Impossible, sir!” rejoined Ben Zoof; “there are no signs of smoke.”
“The Dobryna!” repeated the captain, positively. “She is under sail; but she is Count Timascheff’s yacht.”
He was right. If the count were on board, a strange fatality was bringing him to the presence of his rival. But no longer now could Servadac regard him in the light of an adversary; circumstances had changed, and all animosity was absorbed in the eagerness with which he hailed the prospect of obtaining some information about the recent startling and inexplicable events. During the twenty-seven days that she had been absent, the Dobryna, he conjectured, would have explored the Mediterranean, would very probably have visited Spain, France, or Italy, and accordingly would convey to Gourbi Island some intelligence from one or other of those countries. He reckoned, therefore, not only upon ascertaining the extent of the late catastrophe, but upon learning its cause. Count Timascheff was, no doubt, magnanimously coming to the rescue of himself and his orderly.