“That’s right, dearie,” murmured the subtle old dame at the girl’s ear. “Just cry as hard as you like, if it does you good. There’s so many women crying on this ship, poor souls, that you’re no ways noticeable.”
So many women crying! True, they had not the same to cry about that she had, but Yvonne felt that her grief was suddenly cheapened. She must try to be less weak than those others. With an obstinate effort she strangled her sobs. Her shoulders heaved convulsively for a minute or two, and then, with a strong shudder, she sat up, throwing back her deep hair and resolutely dashing the tears from her eyes.
“What a fool I am, mother!” she cried. “Here am I, where, after weeks of dreadful thinking, I deliberately made up my mind to be. And I do not repent my decision—no, not for one instant. It had to be. Yet—why, I’m acting just like a baby! But now I’m done with tears, mother. You shall see that I am strong enough for what I’ve undertaken.”
“Of course you are, dear heart!” said the old woman softly. “The bravest of us women must have our cry once in a while, or something is sure to go wrong inside of us.”
“And now hadn’t I better find the captain, and ask who’s on board?” cried Yvonne, springing lightly to her feet, and no longer troubling to keep the hood about her face.
“But no, chérie!” urged the old woman. “Don’t you see how every one is still busy, and shouting, and cursing, and unpleasant? This is not the time. Wait just a little. And tell me, now, how you got away.”
Yvonne sat down again, and told the whole story, vividly, with light in her eyes, and with those revealing gestures of her small hands. The old woman’s face darkened at the tale of the spy.
“And so you see, mother,” she concluded, “I feel very confident that he is in this ship—for the man could have no reason to lie to me about it. I am sure from his face that he is the kind of man to do nothing without a reason.”
“Tell me what he looked like, chérie!” said the old woman, the whites of her eyes flashing nervously.
Yvonne described him—she made him stand there on the deck before them. Mother Pêche knew that picture well. Le Fûret was one of the few living creatures she feared. She rose to her feet, and involuntarily cast an eager look in the direction of the other ship, whose sails, a league away, shone scarlet in that disastrous light.