She ceased speaking, and quietly allowed herself to be lowered into the boat. Marie, weeping bitterly, followed her, and finally old Bastienne, filling the air with sobs and lamentations, was deposited beside her mistress. The men took up their oars, and waited the signal for departure.
Roberval was gloomily pacing the deck. His niece's words had gone home, and he was on the point of relenting. But he had already allowed his weakness to turn him once from his purpose, and to fail again, in sight of his assembled crew, was too great a humiliation to be thought of. He hardened his heart, and said sternly to Gaillon:
"See them safely landed; take care that they want for nothing, and return quickly. We must be out of this before darkness falls. The wind is rising, and I should not care to be caught on this shore should a storm come up."
The boat made a hurried final trip, and the three women were put off on the desolate beach. The oarsmen needed not Gaillon's words: "Back now, with might and main," to hasten them on their return journey. They pulled for dear life; and through the overhanging mist they seemed to see the shapes of the demons dancing weirdly down to seize their prey. Once back in the vessel the anchor was hurriedly raised, and all hands eagerly assisted in the work of getting under way once more.
But while this was taking place Roberval's heart had devised a yet more cruel vengeance.
"Bring the prisoner on deck," he exclaimed, "and let him see the results of his disobedience."
When Claude stood beside him on the high poop, he ordered him to look at the island, where the three women stood together on the beach. The long confinement in the semi-darkness of the hold had affected Claude's eyesight, and for a moment, as he gazed across the lines of the gleaming waves, he could see nothing. But just as the returning boat reached the ship's side, and the men hastily came on board, he caught sight of the group upon the shore.
"O just God!" he cried, "can this be permitted?"
"Thus," replied De Roberval, "a just God has made me the instrument to chastise vice. Behold, young man, the work of your hands!"
"Were my hands free," said De Pontbriand, fiercely, "I would become an instrument of God to rid the world of the basest liar and tyrant who ever served his master, the Devil."