Mademoiselle felt somewhat reassured. She looked to the right, she looked to the left, she looked before her, then turned her eyes towards the gloomy immensity of the sea beside which they were riding.
“Oh! how dismal, how repulsive it is,” she exclaimed, at last.
Fleurange now gazed around. Her thoughts were no longer wandering. “The scene is indeed singularly gloomy,” said she. “The leaden sky—that mock sun—the dark waters of that melancholy sea, and the interminable sand. Yes, the whole region is frightful!” And she slightly shuddered.
“I have always been told,” said mademoiselle, “that the sea was glorious; but it seems it was a traveller's tale for the benefit of those who never go from home.”
“No, no,” cried Fleurange, “do not say so. The sea is really beautiful where it is as blue as the heavens above, and where its shores are luxuriant with trees, plants, and flowers; but not here, I acknowledge.”
And, in spite of herself, the sweet impression of her recent dreams, caused by the contrast, entirely vanished. Her heart sank. She became silent, and for a long time none of the three travellers spoke.
The Strand, about twelve or fourteen leagues in length, was divided into several stages by post-stations on the other side of the sand-hills, whence were brought fresh horses. A carriage could not approach the stations on account of the deep sand, and when they paused a few moments to exchange horses, the travellers were only made aware of a neighboring habitation by a peal of the horn which responded afar off to that of the postilion as he announced his approach. While they were thus halting at the last stage, Fleurange noticed Clement's anxious look towards the sea and the threatening sky. The wind grew stronger and stronger, and the waves mounted higher. A violent storm was evidently at hand. She beckoned to him, and said in a tone inaudible to her companion: “We are going to have bad weather, are we not?”
“Yes,” replied he, in the same tone. “It will be dark in about an hour, and I fear we may find the crossing rough and difficult. I do not say this on your account,” added he, with a somewhat forced smile. “I know well I am not allowed to tremble for you, however great the danger, but I fear you may find it difficult by-and-by to reassure your poor friend.”
He mounted to his seat again, ordered [pg 314] the postilion to hurry, and the little calèche set off as speedily as possible to avoid the enormous waves which threatened to upset them. In spite of their haste, night came on, and the storm set in before they arrived at the ferry across the arm of the sea which connects the Kurische Haff with the Baltic. The passage was short but dangerous. They could not stop an instant, for, though well sheltered here, the sea rose higher and higher, and the large boat that was to take the carriage across was difficult to manage in bad weather. They therefore rapidly descended the bank to the boat, and Mademoiselle Josephine was roused from the drowsiness produced by the motion of the carriage, by a sudden and violent shock, accompanied by cries and vociferations mingled with the roar of the sea and the frightful howling of the wind.
“O Jesus, my Saviour!” prayed the poor demoiselle, clasping her hands with terror: “the time, then, has come for us to die!”