As soon as he entered the boat, it sank prodigiously, crushed under his weight; a shock sent it up again, and Julian began to row.
At each stroke of the oar the surge of the waves heaved up the bow. The water, blacker than ink, rushed furiously past either side of the planking. It scooped out abysses, it made mountains, and the skiff now leaped up, now sank back into depths where it spun round, tossed about by the wind.
Julian bent his back, stretched his arms, and taking a purchase with his feet, came back, bending from his waist, in order to get more power. The hail lashed his hands, the rain ran down his back, the violence of the wind choked him, he halted. Then the boat was carried away by the current. But, comprehending that some great thing was afoot, some order which he durst not disobey, he took to his oars again; and the creaking of the tholes broke on the clamour of the tempest.
The little lantern burned in front of him. Birds flying past hid it at intervals. But he saw always the eyes of the Leper, who sat up in the stern immobile as a column.
And this lasted long, very long!
When they arrived in the cabin, Julian shut the door; and he saw him sitting on the stool. The sort of shroud that covered him had fallen to his haunches; and his shoulders, his chest, his meagre arms, were hidden under patches of scaly pustules. Enormous wrinkles furrowed his brow. Like a skeleton, he had a hole in place of a nose; and his bluish lips gave out a breath as thick as a fog and nauseating.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
Julian gave him what he had, an old piece of bacon and the crusts of a black loaf.
When he had devoured them, the table, the dish, and the haft of the knife all bore the same marks as were to be seen on his body.
Next he said, “I’m thirsty!”