"Not yet."
"Not yet?" I repeated. "You expect news then?"
"We expect an Italian steam-ship to arrive in port before the evening," said the superintendent. "Who knows what may happen?"
He bowed and left me. I felt no great elation on contemplating the barren prospect which his last words had placed before me. So many steamers had arrived at Marseilles, without bringing any news of the missing man, that I attached very little importance to the arrival of the Italian ship. However, I had nothing to do—I wanted a walk—and I thought I might as well stroll down to the port, and see the vessel come in.
The vessel was just entering the harbor by the time I got to the landing-stage.
I found our man employed to investigate travelers arriving by sea, punctually at his post. His influence broke through the vexatious French rules and regulations which forbid all freedom of public movement within official limits, and procured me a place in the room at the custom-house through which the passengers by the steamer would be obliged to pass. I accepted his polite attention, simply because I was glad to sit down and rest in a quiet place after my walk—not even the shadow of an idea that anything would come of my visit to the harbor being in my mind at the time.
After a long interval the passengers began to stream into the room. Looking languidly enough at the first half-dozen strangers who came in, I felt myself touched on the shoulder from behind. There was our man, in a state of indescribable excitement, entreating me to compose myself!
Being perfectly composed already, I stared at him, and asked, "Why?"
"He is here!" cried the man. "Look!"
He pointed to the passengers still crowding into the room. I looked; and, instantly losing my head, started up with a cry that turned everybody's eyes on me. Yes! there was the poor dear discolored face—there was Oscar himself, thunderstruck on his side at the sight of Me!