In finding his match-box Felix's fingers came in contact with the tiny statue of St. Joseph in his pocket, but he was only half sensible of the fact in his nervous joy over the slight decline in the river.
"Hello! Here is Harold Le Duc!" he exclaimed, as, by the light of his match, he chanced to catch the presentment of a distant face in the darkness.
"Hello! Come along, Harry, an' smoke one cigar. We mus' celebrate dat insinuation dat de river is falling. Less dan one inch, it does not count, except to prove she is hesitating; an' you know de ol' saying, 'She who hesitate'—'Hello, young man! You are good for sore eyes!"
The person addressed had come forward with extended hand.
When another match, lighting Adolphe's cigar, revealed the young man's face again, there was something so startling in its wonderful solemnity and beauty that both men were impressed.
"You won't smoke? An'w'y? Come! It is one great comfort, a li'l' smoke. Here, let me—"
He presented the cigars again.
"Well, I thank you, but excuse me now." Young Le Duc took a cigar with a smile. "I'll enjoy it later, maybe; but not until we see a little further. As you say, a half-inch is only a hint, but it is a good one. I am going now up the coast, where trouble waits, and I may need a steady hand before morning. But I think the worst is over. Good night—and thank you. The folks—they are all well?"
"Fine, all fine, and asking always for w'y you don't come to see dem."
But he had gone.