The men of Grunzenow had brought sixty-four unfortunate people ashore, some of them injured; only the last fishing boat was still to come with the Colonel and Hans Unwirrsch.
"They are bringing the captain and the women" was the answer Fränzchen received to her anxious questions. "They must be here soon now, nothing has happened to them."
Franziska Unwirrsch pressed her hand to her heart and turned back to her duties. She had to act as interpreter for the French crew and the village of Grunzenow. She moved about in the confused, wild tumult like an angel bringing help and comfort; Uncle Rudolf, who had also not quite forgotten his French, had lost his head to a much greater extent than had his niece.
She was just kneeling beside a bearded, half-naked Provençal sailor who had broken both legs when renewed shouting announced the arrival of the last boat. In his pain the Provençal held her hands so tightly that she could not have freed herself even if she had tried. She could not even turn round to look at her husband; but between the words of comfort that she was speaking to the poor injured man all her thoughts turned to the landing where it had suddenly grown perfectly quiet.
She was listening with all her soul when a stir went through the people. The high voice of a woman cried with a foreign accent:
"Where is she? O ciel, where is she?"
The Provençal let go of the gentle, merciful hand that he had held so tightly till now; a woman threw herself on her knees beside Fränzchen, seized her wildly with her arms, kissed her gown, her hand, sobbed and screamed. The burning pile of wood and the torches threw their flickering light on the excited stranger; Hans, too, bent down to his wife,—it was a dream, only a dream! How did Henriette Trublet come to be on the shore of Grunzenow?
"It's she! It's she! Oh, all Saints! Oh, Mademoiselle! Oh, Madame! ma mignonne, blessings on your sweet face! Praise God! Oh, what a miracle! It is she!"
"Henriette! Henriette Trublet!" murmured Fränzchen, looking at the French girl with fixed, doubting eyes.