“Are you afraid?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not with you.”
He scanned the land and the sea. On the arc of their horizon lay the black hull of a tramp steamer going eastward. Far away to the west was a speck of white, and against the pale sky a film of smoke. Landward, beyond the shimmering water, stretched the sunny bay, and the Casino was just visible. Its gilt cupolas shot tiny flames. The green-topped point, its hither side deep in shadow, reached out helplessly for them. Somerset and Ottilie still paused, doing nothing more than keeping themselves afloat, and they felt the current drifting them ever seaward.
“It looks like death,” he said, gravely. “Are you afraid to die?”
Again Ottilie said: “Not with you.”
He looked at the land, and he looked at the white speck and the puff of smoke. Then suddenly his heart leaped with the thrilling inspiration of a wild impossibility.
“Let us leave Illerville and France behind us. Death is as certain either way.”
The little princess looked at him wonderingly.
“Where are we going?”
“To England.”