She rested her elbows on the bulwarks, her head between her hands, and murmured in despairing accents: “I love him. It’s the first time I have ever loved. The other men—they don’t count. But as for Ralph—but I don’t want to talk about him. Thanks to him I have known the only joy I ever had—but also the greatest suffering. Before I met him I did not know what happiness was; but I did not know sorrow either. And then—and then the happiness came to an end; and only the suffering is left. It’s horrible, Leonard! The idea that he is going to marry—that another is going to share his life, is more than I can bear. Anything rather than that! I would rather risk anything—I would rather die!”
He said in a low voice: “My poor Josine.”
They were silent for some time. She leaned on the rail huddled together and despairing. Then when the boat was lowered, she drew herself upright, imperious and implacable.
“But I risk nothing, Leonard—neither death nor failure,” she said.
“What are you going to do?” he said in a tone of patient resignation.
“I’m going to carry him off.”
“You hope to do that?”
“Yes. Everything is ready. The smallest details have been worked out.”
“How?” he said in an incredulous tone.
“By the agency of Dominique.”