But the boat seemed familiar. I could not take my eyes off it for some minutes. Why should this be? I asked; and then my sightless memory began to struggle, and I addressed the young Frenchman, who stood at my side, for the relief to be found in speech.
‘I seem to have seen that boat before.’
‘Impossible, madame.’
‘What does the lady say?’ exclaimed Captain Regnier, who leaned against the bulwarks with his hands in his pockets opposite me.
Alphonse repeated my words. The large fat man pulled one hand out of his pocket to emphasise his speech with gestures.
‘My uncle says no. You cannot remember that boat,’ said the young Frenchman. ‘He has owned this brick twenty years, and the boat is twenty years old, and in all that time she has belonged to the brick.’
‘Why, then, should she seem familiar to me?’
He reflected, and then put his forefinger to the side of his nose.
‘I think I know. We took you out of a boat; all your sufferings were in a boat; the idea of a boat has been burnt in upon your mind by pain and misery; and now when you see a boat you cry out—“Ah! surely I know her.” You will say that of any boat. It is a very good sign. I say it is a very good sign that you should think you know that boat.’
He then volubly addressed his uncle, who nodded, and grunted, and shrugged, and appeared to agree.