For that matter, they recognized above all, that rest was essential. They were both of them worn out.
"Lie down, mother . . . look, just here: there's a bed of moss under this overhanging rock which makes a regular nest. You'll be as cosy as a queen there and sheltered from the cold."
"Oh, my darling, my darling!" murmured Véronique, overcome with happiness.
It was now the time for explanations; and Véronique did not hesitate to give them. The boy's grief at hearing of the death of all those whom he had known would be mitigated by the great joy which he felt at recovering his mother. She therefore spoke without reserve, cradling him in her lap, wiping away his tears, feeling plainly that she was enough to make up for all the lost affections and friendships. He was particularly afflicted by Stéphane's death.
"But is it quite certain?" he asked. "For, after all, there is nothing to tell us that he is drowned. Stéphane is a perfect swimmer; and so . . . Yes, yes, mother, we must not despair . . . on the contrary . . . . Look, here's a friend who always comes at the worst times, to declare that everything is not lost."
All's Well came trotting along. The sight of his master did not appear to surprise him. Nothing unduly surprised All's Well. Events, to his mind, always followed one another in a natural order which did not disturb either his habits or his occupations. Tears alone seemed to him worthy of special attention. And Véronique and François were not crying.
"You see, mother? All's Well agrees with me; nothing is lost . . . . But, upon my word, All's Well, you're a sharp little fellow! What would you have said, eh, if we'd left the island without you?"
Véronique looked at her son:
"Left the island?"
"Certainly: and the sooner the better. That's my plan. What do you say to it?"