To him there also fell the painful duty of officially announcing to the crowd surging impatiently in the market place—though room in front was always made and kept for those of the fisher folk who had relatives in the submarine service—that it was the Neptune which had gone down.
He had seen the effect of that announcement painted on rough, worn, upturned faces; he had heard the cries of anger, the groans of despair of the few, and had witnessed the relief, the tears of joy of the many. But his heart felt numb, and his cold, stern manner kept the emotions and excitement of those about him in check.
At last there had come a short respite. It was publicly announced that owing to the currents the divers had had to suspend their work awhile, but that salvage appliances from England and from Cherbourg were on their way to Falaise, and that it was hoped by seven that evening active operations would begin. With luck the Neptune might be raised before midnight.
Fortunate people blessed with optimistic natures were already planning a banquet at which the crew of the Neptune were to be entertained within an hour of the rescue.
Jacques de Wissant rose from the massive First Empire table which formed part of the fine suite of furniture presented by the great Napoleon just a hundred years ago to the municipality of Falaise.
With bent head, his hands clasped behind him, the mayor began walking up and down the long room.
Admiral de Saint Vilquier might now come at any moment, but the man awaiting him had not yet made up his mind how to word what he had to say—how much to tell, how much to conceal from, his wife's old friend. He was only too well aware that if the desperate attempts which would soon be made to raise the Neptune were successful, and if its human freight were rescued alive, the fact that there had been a woman on board could not be concealed. Thousands would know to-night, and millions to-morrow morning.
Not only would the amazing story provide newspaper readers all over the world with a thrilling, unexpected piece of news, but the fact that there had been a woman involved in the disaster would be perpetuated, as long as our civilization endures, in every account of subsequent accidents to submarine craft.
More intimately, vividly agonizing was the knowledge that the story, the scandal, would be revived when there arose the all-important question of a suitable marriage for Clairette or Jacqueline.