Entering he found Sieur Landoys standing near the doorposts.
“You have heard, no doubt, of this event?”
“No.”
“I did not like to call it out to you on the road. It makes me like a bird of evil omen.”
“What has happened?”
“The Durande is lost.”
There was a crowd in the great room.
The various groups spoke low, like people in a sick chamber.
The assemblage, which consisted of neighbours, the first comers, curious to learn the news, huddled together near the door with a sort of timidity, leaving clear the bottom of the room, where appeared Déruchette sitting and in tears. Mess Lethierry stood beside her.
His back was against the wall at the end of the room. His sailor’s cap came down over his eyebrows. A lock of grey hair hung upon his cheek. He said nothing. His arms were motionless; he seemed scarcely to breathe. He had the look of something lifeless placed against the wall.