They were silent for a long time. The enemy, present, though invisible, oppressed them with his formidable weight. He was everywhere; he was master of the island, master of the subterranean dwellings, master of the heaths and woods, master of the sea around them, master of the dolmens and the coffins. He linked together the monstrous ages of the past and the no less monstrous hours of the present. He was continuing history according to the ancient rites and striking blows which had been foretold a thousand times.
"But why? With what object? What does it all mean?" asked Véronique, in a disheartened tone. "What connection can there be between the people of to-day and those of long ago? What is the explanation of the work resumed by such barbarous methods?"
And, after a further pause, she said, for in her heart of hearts, behind every question and reply and every insoluble problem, the obsession never ceased to torment her:
"Ah, if François were here! If we were all three fighting together! What has happened to him? What keeps him in his cell? Some obstacle which he did not foresee?"
It was Stéphane's turn to comfort her:
"An obstacle? Why should you suppose so? There is no obstacle. But it's a long job . . . ."
"Yes, yes, you are right; a long, difficult job. Oh, I'm sure that he won't lose heart! He has such high spirits! And such confidence! 'A mother and son who have been brought together cannot be parted again,' he said. 'They may still persecute us, but separate us, never! We shall win in the end.' He was speaking truly, wasn't he, Stéphane? I've not found my son again, have I, only to lose him? No, no, it would be too unjust and it would be impossible . . ."
Stéphane looked at her, surprised to hear her interrupt herself. Véronique was listening to something.
"What is it?" asked Stéphane.