—"No."
—"Let's be going then!" exclaimed the keeper, who had got up and was looking over the parapet. "The high rock is out of water; we mustn't wait any longer."
He took Francine in his arms and went rapidly down one of the foot-paths leading to the shore of the islet. Geneviève followed, in inexpressible anguish. All three reached a rocky point that stretched far out into the waters. It was the extremity of the line of reefs that connected the powder-magazine with Trébéron. Ropars placed the child on the ground, in order to take note of his direction. The passage, under the rays of the moon, was tinged with pale green, varied by small lines of white that were made by the light fringe of foam upon the waves. So gentle were their undulations, that one might have fancied a field of green wheat chequered with white camomile flowers. Beyond, the Ile des Morts in all its breadth was illumined by the moonlight, with its yellowish buildings, its long slated roofs, and its lightning-rods, standing out against the sky. So calm was the night that the sentry's step was heard, as he paced up and down before the watch-box of granite, built at the corner of the esplanade. At the forked head of the two islands, and partially in shadow, lay the silent gun-boat, balancing at anchor.
Ropars examined every thing with scrupulous attention. He pointed out to Geneviève the direction of the submarine causeway, indicated by a faint shadow on the surface of the water, as he threw aside his waistcoat and hat; then taking both of his wife's hands, who looked at him with haggard eyes,—"the time is come, Geneviève," said he; "kiss me, and pray the good God to be with us."
The poor woman responded at first to his embrace, without power to utter a word; but when she felt that he had disengaged himself and was returning towards the child, a cry escaped her; she was not mistress of herself. She forgot all that Mathieu had said to her, all that she herself had promised, and encircled him with her arms in all the desperation of terror.
—"You shall not go," she stammered out, "you shall not go!... It is rushing on to death ... in the name of your marriage-vow, remain to be my succour, my companion!... Would you then leave me here alone with Josèphe?... Look, how broad the sea is, and how deep! You and Francine, you will be lost in it!... Ah! if it be God's will, let us all die here; but at least let us die together! Mathieu, I will not have you quit me; you shall not carry off my child; you shall not go!"
Ropars endeavoured to calm her, and struggled to release himself from her hold; but she clung to him, and refused to hear a word. And as he recalled to her that she had, a minute before, induced Francine's consent,
—"I was wrong," she wildly interrupted him; "I will no longer have it so. If you leave me, I will follow; and you will be responsible before God for what may happen. Mathieu, do not tempt me! Mathieu, have pity on me!... What have I done to you, that you should thus go voluntarily to destruction? Do you no longer care for life with me?... Ah! if I have failed in my duty, be not angry with me, dear soul! If my too great anguish has offended you, forgive me! I will not cry any more; I will be every thing that you desire. Hold; look on me rather; forgive me; but say that you will stay."
She had sunk down upon her knees, and held Ropars' hands pressed firmly against her lips. He exerted himself to raise her up.
—"Enough, Geneviève," said he, in a tone wherein commiseration disputed with impatience; "I thought that you were braver.... This is not what you promised me. Think, think, unhappy woman, that the time is passing away!"