IV

Jacques de Wissant sat at his desk in the fine old room which is set

aside for the mayor's sole use in the town hall of Falaise.

He was waiting for Admiral de Saint Vilquier, whom he had summoned on

the plea of a matter both private and urgent. In his note, of which he

had written more than one draft, he had omitted none of the punctilio

usual in French official correspondence, and he had asked pardon, in the

most formal language, for asking the Admiral to come to him, instead of

proposing to go to the Admiral.

The time that had elapsed since he had parted from his sister-in-law had

seemed like years instead of hours, and yet every moment of those hours

had been filled with action.

From the Châlet des Dunes Jacques had made his way straight to the

Pavillon de Wissant, and there his had been the bitter task of lying to

his household.

They had accepted unquestioningly his statement that their mistress,

without waiting even to go home, had left the Châlet des Dunes with her

sister for Italy owing to the arrival of sudden worse news from Mantua.

While Claire's luggage was being by his orders hurriedly prepared, he

had changed his clothes; and then, overcome with mortal weariness, with

sick, sombre suspense, he had returned to Falaise, taking the railway

station on his way to the town hall, and from there going through the

grim comedy of despatching his wife's trunks to Paris.

Since the day war was declared by France on Germany, there had never

been at the town hall of Falaise so busy an afternoon. Urgent messages

of inquiry and condolence came pouring in from all over the civilized

world, and the mayor had to compose suitable answers to them all.

To him there also fell the painful duty of officially announcing to the

crowd surging impatiently in the market place--though room in front was

always made and kept for those of the fisher folk who had relatives in

the submarine service--that it was the _Neptune_ which had gone down.

He had seen the effect of that announcement painted on rough, worn,

upturned faces; he had heard the cries of anger, the groans of despair

of the few, and had witnessed the relief, the tears of joy of the many.

But his heart felt numb, and his cold, stern manner kept the emotions

and excitement of those about him in check.

At last there had come a short respite. It was publicly announced that

owing to the currents the divers had had to suspend their work awhile,

but that salvage appliances from England and from Cherbourg were on

their way to Falaise, and that it was hoped by seven that evening active

operations would begin. With luck the _Neptune_ might be raised before

midnight.

Fortunate people blessed with optimistic natures were already planning a

banquet at which the crew of the _Neptune_ were to be entertained within

an hour of the rescue.

* * * * *

Jacques de Wissant rose from the massive First Empire table which formed

part of the fine suite of furniture presented by the great Napoleon

just a hundred years ago to the municipality of Falaise.

With bent head, his hands clasped behind him, the mayor began walking up

and down the long room.

Admiral de Saint Vilquier might now come at any moment, but the man

awaiting him had not yet made up his mind how to word what he had to

say--how much to tell, how much to conceal from, his wife's old friend.

He was only too well aware that if the desperate attempts which would

soon be made to raise the _Neptune_ were successful, and if its human

freight were rescued alive, the fact that there had been a woman on

board could not be concealed. Thousands would know to-night, and

millions to-morrow morning.

Not only would the amazing story provide newspaper readers all over the

world with a thrilling, unexpected piece of news, but the fact that

there had been a woman involved in the disaster would be perpetuated, as

long as our civilization endures, in every account of subsequent

accidents to submarine craft.

More intimately, vividly agonizing was the knowledge that the story, the

scandal, would be revived when there arose the all-important question of

a suitable marriage for Clairette or Jacqueline.

As he paced up and down the room, longing for and yet dreading the

coming of the Admiral, he visualized what would happen. He could almost

hear the whispered words: "Yes, dear friend, the girl is admirably

brought up, and has a large fortune, also she and your son have taken

quite a fancy for one another, but there is that very ugly story of the

mother! Don't you remember that she was with her lover in the submarine

_Neptune_? The citizens of Falaise still laugh at the story and point

her out in the street. Like mother like daughter, you know!" Thus the

miserable man tortured himself, turning the knife in his wound.

But stay---- Supposing the salvage appliances failed, as they had failed

at Bizerta, to raise the _Neptune_? Then with the help of Admiral de

Saint Vilquier the awful truth might be kept secret.

* * * * *

At last the door opened.

Jacques de Wissant took a step forward, and as his hand rested loosely

for a moment in the old seaman's firmer grasp, he would have given many

years of his life to postpone the coming interview.

"As you asked me so urgently to do so, I have come, M. de Wissant, to

learn what you have to tell me. But I'm afraid the time I can spare you

must be short. As you know, I am to be at the station in half an hour to

meet the Minister of Marine. He will probably wish to go out at once to

the scene of the calamity, and I shall have to accompany him."

The Admiral was annoyed at having been thus sent for to the town hall.

It was surely Jacques de Wissant's place to have come to him.

And then, while listening to the other's murmured excuses, the old naval

officer happened to look straight into the face of the Mayor of Falaise,

and at once a change came over his manner, even his voice softened and

altered.

"Pardon my saying so, M. de Wissant," he exclaimed abruptly, "but you

look extremely ill! You mustn't allow this sad business to take such a

hold on you. It is tragic no doubt that such things must be, but

remember"--he uttered the words solemnly--"they are the Price of

Admiralty."

"I know, I know," muttered Jacques de Wissant.

"Shall we sit down?"

The deadly pallor, the look of strain on the face of the man before him

was making the Admiral feel more and more uneasy. "It would be very

awkward," he thought to himself, "were Jacques de Wissant to be taken

ill, here, now, with me---- Ah, I have it!"

Then he said aloud, "You have doubtless had nothing to eat since the

morning?" And as de Wissant nodded--"But that's absurd! It's always

madness to go without food. Believe me, you will want all your strength

during the next few days. As for me, I had fortunately lunched before I

received the sad news. I keep to the old hours; I do not care for your

English _déjeuners_ at one o'clock. Midday is late enough for me!"

"Admiral?" said the wretched man, "Admiral----?"

"Yes, take your time; I am not really in such a hurry. I am quite at

your disposal."

"It is a question of honour," muttered Jacques de Wissant, "a question

of honour, Admiral, or I should not trouble you with the matter."

Admiral de Saint Vilquier leant forward, but Jacques de Wissant avoided

meeting the shrewd, searching eyes.

"The honour of a naval family is involved." The Mayor of Falaise was now

speaking in a low, pleading voice.

The Admiral stiffened. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "So you have been asked to

intercede with me on behalf of some young scapegrace. Well, who is it?

I'll look into the matter to-morrow morning. I really cannot think of

anything to-day but of this terrible business----"

"----Admiral, it concerns this business."

"The loss of the _Neptune_? In what way can the honour of a naval family

be possibly involved in such a matter?" There was a touch of hauteur as

well as of indignant surprise in the fine old seaman's voice.

"Admiral," said Jacques de Wissant deliberately, "there was--there is--a

woman on board the _Neptune_."

"A woman in the _Neptune_? That is quite impossible!" The Admiral got up

from his chair. "It is one of our strictest regulations that no stranger

be taken on board a submarine without a special permit from the Minister

of Marine, countersigned by an admiral. No such permit has been issued

for many months. In no case would a woman be allowed on board. Commander

Dupré is far too conscientious, too loyal, an officer to break such a

regulation."

"Commander Dupré," said Jacques de Wissant in a low, bitter tone, "was

not too conscientious or too loyal an officer to break that regulation,

for there is, I repeat it, a woman in the _Neptune_."

The Admiral sat down again. "But this is serious--very serious," he

muttered.

He was thinking of the effect, not only at home but abroad, of such a

breach of discipline.

He shook his head with a pained, angry gesture--"I understand what

happened," he said at last. "The woman was of course poor Dupré's"--and

then something in Jacques de Wissant's pallid face made him substitute,

for the plain word he meant to have used, a softer, kindlier

phrase--"poor Dupré's _bonne amie_," he said.

"I am advised not," said Jacques de Wissant shortly. "I am told that the

person in question is a young lady."

"Do you mean an unmarried girl?" asked the Admiral. There was great

curiosity and sincere relief in his voice.

"I beg of you not to ask me, Admiral! The family of the lady have

implored me to reveal as little of the truth as possible. They have

taken their own measures, and they are good measures, to account for

her--her disappearance." The unhappy man spoke with considerable

agitation.

"Quite so! Quite so! They are right. I have no wish to show indiscreet

curiosity."

"Do you think anything can be done to prevent the fact becoming known?"

asked Jacques de Wissant--and, as the other waited a moment before

answering, the suspense became almost more than he could endure.

He got up and instinctively stood with his back to the light. "The

family of this young lady are willing to make any pecuniary

sacrifice----"

"It is not a question of pecuniary sacrifice," the Admiral said stiffly.

"Money will never really purchase either secrecy or silence. But honour,

M. de Wissant, will sometimes, nay, often, do both."

"Then you think the fact can be concealed?"

"I think it will be impossible to conceal it if the _Neptune_ is

raised"--he hesitated, and his voice sank as he added the poignant words

"_in time_. But if that happens, though I fear that it is not likely to

happen, then I promise you that I will allow it to be thought that I had

given this lady permission, and her improper action will be accepted for

what it no doubt was--a foolish escapade. If Dupré and little Paritot

are the men of honour I take them to be, one or other of them will of

course marry her!"

"And if the _Neptune_ is not raised--" the Mayor's voice also dropped

to a whisper--"_in time_--what then?"

"Then," said the Admiral, "everything will be done by me--so you can

assure your unlucky friends--to conceal the fact that Commander Dupré

failed in his duty. Not for his sake, you understand--he, I fear,

deserves what he has suffered, what he is perhaps still suffering,"--a

look of horror stole over his old, weather-roughened face--"but for the

sake of the foolish girl and for the sake of her family. You say it is a

naval family?"

"Yes," said Jacques de Wissant. "A noted naval family."

The Admiral got up. "And now I, on my side, must exact of you a pledge,

M. de Wissant--" he looked searchingly at the Government official

standing before him. "I solemnly implore you, monsieur, to keep this

fact you have told me absolutely secret for the time being--secret even

from the Minister of Marine."

The Mayor of Falaise bent his head. "I intend to act," he said slowly,

"as if I had never heard it."

"I ask it for the honour, the repute, of the Service," muttered the old

officer. "After all, M. de Wissant, the poor fellow did not mean much

harm. We sailors have all, at different times of our lives, had some

_bonne amie_ whom we found it devilish hard to leave on shore!"

The Admiral walked slowly towards the door. To-day had aged him years.

Then he turned and looked benignantly at Jacques de Wissant; the man

before him might be stiff, cold, awkward in manner, but he was a

gentleman, a man of honour.

And as he drove to the station to meet the Minister of Marine, Admiral

de Saint Vilquier's shrewd, practical mind began to deal with the

difficult problem which was now added to his other cares. It was

simplified in view of the fact--the awful fact--that according to his

private information it was most unlikely that the submarine would be

raised within the next few hours. He hoped with all his heart that the

twelve men and the woman now lying beneath the sea had met death at the

moment of the collision.

* * * * *

All that summer night the cafés and eating-houses of Falaise remained

open, and there was a constant coming and going to the beach, where many

people, even among those visitors who were not directly interested in

the calamity, camped out on the stones.

The mayor sent word to the Pavillon de Wissant that he would sleep in

his town house, but though he left the town hall at two in the morning

he was back at his post by eight, and he spent there the whole of the

next long dragging day.

Fortunately for him there was little time for thought. In addition to

the messages of inquiry and condolence which went on pouring in,

important members of the Government arrived from Paris and the

provinces.

There also came to Falaise the mother of Commander Dupré, and the father

and brother of Lieutenant Paritot. De Wissant made the latter his

special care. They, the two men, were granted the relief of tears, but

Madame Dupré's silent agony could not be assuaged.

Once, when he suddenly came upon her sitting, her chin in her hand, in

his room at the town hall, Jacques de Wissant shrank from her blazing

eyes and ravaged face, so vividly did they recall to him the eyes, the

face, he had seen that April evening "'twixt dog and wolf," when he had

first leapt upon the truth.

On the third day all hope that there could be anyone still living in the

_Neptune_ was being abandoned, and yet at noon there ran a rumour

through the town that knocking had been heard in the submarine....

The mayor himself drew up an official proclamation, in which it was

pointed out that it was almost certain that all on board had perished at

the time of the collision, and that, even if any of them had survived

for a few hours, not one could be alive now.

And then, as one by one the days of waiting began to wear themselves

away, the world, apart from the town which numbered ten of her sons

among the doomed men, relaxed its painful interest in the fate of the

French submarine. Indeed, Falaise took on an almost winter stillness of

aspect, for the summer visitors naturally drifted away from a spot which

was still the heart of an awful tragedy.

But Jacques de Wissant did not relax in his duties or in his efforts on

behalf of the families of the men who still lay, eighteen fathoms deep,

encased in their steel tomb; and the townspeople were deeply moved by

their mayor's continued, if restrained, distress. He even put his

children, his pretty twin daughters, Jacqueline and Clairette, into deep

mourning; this touched the seafaring portion of the population very

much.

It also became known that M. de Wissant was suffering from domestic

distress of a very sad and intimate kind; his sister-in-law was

seriously ill in Italy from an infectious disease, and his wife, who

had gone away at a moment's notice to help to nurse her, had caught the

infection.

The Mayor of Falaise and Admiral de Saint Vilquier did not often have

occasion to meet during those days spent by each of them in entertaining

official personages and in composing answers to the messages and

inquiries which went on dropping in, both by day and by night, at the

town hall and at the Admiral's quarters. But there came an hour when

Admiral de Saint Vilquier at last sought to have a private word with the

Mayor of Falaise.

"I think I have arranged everything satisfactorily," he said briefly,

"and you can convey the fact to your friends. I do not suppose, as

matters are now, that there is much fear that the truth will ever come

out."

The old man did not look into Jacques de Wissant's face while he uttered

the comforting words. He had become aware of many things--including

Madeleine Baudoin's cruise in the _Neptune_ the day before the accident,

and of her own and Claire de Wissant's reported departure for Italy.

Alone, among the people who sometimes had friendly speech of the mayor

during those sombre days of waiting, Admiral de Saint Vilquier did not

condole with the anxious husband on the fact that he could not yet leave

Falaise for Mantua.

V

Jacques de Wissant woke with a start and sat up in bed. He had heard a

knock--but, awake or sleeping, his ears were never free of the sound of

knocking,--of muffled, regular knocking....

It was the darkest hour of the summer night, but with a sharp sense of

relief he became aware that what had wakened him this time was a real

sound, not the slow, patient, rhythmical, tapping which haunted him

incessantly. But now the knocking had been followed by the opening of

his bedroom door, and vaguely outlined before him was the short, squat

form of an old woman who had entered his mother's service when he was a

little boy, and who always stayed in his town house.

"M'sieur l'Amiral de Saint Vilquier desires to see M'sieur Jacques on

urgent business," she whispered. "I have put him to wait in the great

drawing-room. It is fortunate that I took all the covers off the

furniture yesterday."

Then the moment of ordeal, the moment he had begun to think would never

come--was upon him? He knew this summons to mean that the _Neptune_ had

been finally towed into the harbour, and that now, in this still, dark

hour before dawn, was about to begin the work of taking out the bodies.

Every day for a week past it had been publicly announced that the

following night would see the final scene of the dread drama, and each

evening--even last evening--it had been as publicly announced that

nothing could be done for the present.

Jacques de Wissant had put all his trust in the Admiral and in the

arrangements the Admiral was making to avoid discovery. But now, as he

got up and dressed himself--strange to say that phantom sound of

knocking had ceased--there came over him a frightful sensation of doubt

and fear. Had he been right to trust wholly to the old naval officer?

Would it not have been better to have taken the Minister of Marine into

his confidence?

How would it be possible for Admiral de Saint Vilquier, unless backed by

Governmental authority, to elude the vigilance, not only of the

Admiralty officials and of all those that were directly interested, but

also of the journalists who, however much the public interest had

slackened in the disaster, still stayed on at Falaise in order to be

present at the last act of the tragedy?

These thoughts jostled each other in Jacques de Wissant's brain. But

whether he had been right or wrong it was too late to alter now.

He went into the room where the Admiral stood waiting for him.

The two men shook hands, but neither spoke till they had left the house.

Then, as they walked with firm, quick steps across the deserted

market-place, the Admiral said suddenly, "This is the quietest hour in

the twenty-four, and though I anticipate a little trouble with the

journalists, I think everything will go off quite well."

His companion muttered a word of assent, and the other went on, this

time in a gruff whisper: "By the way, I have had to tell Dr. Tarnier--"

and as Jacques de Wissant gave vent to a stifled exclamation of

dismay--"of course I had to tell Dr. Tarnier! He has most nobly offered

to go down into the _Neptune_ alone--though in doing so he will run

considerable personal risk."

Admiral de Saint Vilquier paused a moment, for the quick pace at which

his companion was walking made him rather breathless. "I have simply

told him that there was a young woman on board. He imagines her to have

been a Parisienne,--a person of no importance, you understand,--who had

come to spend the holiday with poor Dupré. But he quite realizes that

the fact must never be revealed." He spoke in a dry, matter-of-fact

tone. "There will not be room on the pontoon for more than five or six,

including ourselves and Dr. Tarnier. Doubtless some of our newspaper

friends will be disappointed--if one can speak of disappointment in such

a connection--but they will have plenty of opportunities of being

present to-morrow and the following nights. I have arranged with the

Minister of Marine for the work to be done only at night."

As the two men emerged on the quays, they saw that the news had leaked

out, for knots of people stood about, talking in low hushed tones, and

staring at the middle of the harbour.

Apart from the others, and almost dangerously close to the unguarded

edge below which was the dark lapping water, stood a line of women

shrouded in black, and from them came no sound.

As the Admiral and his companion approached the little group of

officials who were apparently waiting for them, the old naval officer

whispered to Jacques de Wissant, using for the first time the familiar

expression, "_mon ami_," "Do not forget, _mon ami_, to thank the

harbour-master and the pilot. They have had a very difficult task, and

they will expect your commendation."

Jacques de Wissant said the words required of him. And then, at the last

moment, just as he was on the point of going down the steps leading to

the flat-bottomed boat in which they were to be rowed to the pontoon,

there arose an angry discussion. The harbour-master had, it seemed,

promised the representatives of two Paris newspapers that they should be

present when the submarine was first opened.

But the Admiral stiffly asserted his supreme authority. "In such matters

I can allow no favouritism! It is doubtful if any bodies will be taken

out to-night, gentlemen, for the tide is already turning. I will see if

other arrangements can be made to-morrow. If any of you had been in the

harbour of Bizerta when the _Lutin_ was raised, you would now thank me

for not allowing you to view the sight which we may be about to see."

And the weary, disappointed special correspondents, who had spent long

days watching for this one hour, realized that they would have to

content themselves with describing what could be seen from the quays.

* * * * *

It will, however, surprise no one familiar with the remarkable

enterprise of the modern press, when it is recorded that by far the most

accurate account of what occurred during the hour that followed was

written by a cosmopolitan war correspondent, who had had the good

fortune of making Dr. Tarnier's acquaintance during the dull fortnight

of waiting.

He wrote:

None of those who were there will ever forget what they saw last

night in the harbour of Falaise.

The scene, illumined by the searchlight of a destroyer, was at

once sinister, sombre, and magnificent. Below the high, narrow

pontoon, on the floor of the harbour, lay the wrecked submarine;

and those who gazed down at the _Neptune_ felt as though they

were in the presence of what had once been a sentient being done

to death by some huge Goliath of the deep.

Dr. Tarnier, the chief medical officer of the port--a man who is

beloved and respected by the whole population of Falaise--stood

ready to begin his dreadful task. I had ascertained that he had

obtained permission to go down alone into the hold of death--an

exploration attended with the utmost physical risk. He was clad

in a suit of india-rubber clothing, and over his arm was folded

a large tarpaulin sheet lined with carbolic wool, one of half a

dozen such sheets lying at his feet.

The difficult work of unsealing the conning tower was then

proceeded with in the presence of Admiral de Saint Vilquier,

whose prowess as a midshipman is still remembered by British

Crimean veterans--and of the Mayor of Falaise, M. Jacques de

Wissant.

At last there came a guttural exclamation of "_Ça y est!_" and

Dr. Tarnier stepped downwards, to emerge a moment later with the

first body, obviously that of the gallant Commander Dupré, who

was found, as it was expected he would be, in the conning tower.

Once more the doctor's burly figure disappeared, once more he

emerged, tenderly bearing a slighter, lighter burden, obviously

the boyish form of Lieutenant Paritot, who was found close to

Commander Dupré.

The tide was rising rapidly, but two more bodies--this time with

the help of a webbed band cleverly designed by Dr. Tarnier with

a view to the purpose--were lifted from the inner portion of the

submarine.

The four bodies, rather to the disappointment of the large crowd

which had gradually gathered on the quays, were not taken

directly to the shore, to the great hall where Falaise is to

mourn her dead sons; one by one they were reverently conveyed,

by the Admiral's orders, to a barge which was once used as a

hospital ward for sick sailors, and which is close to the mouth

of the harbour. Thence, when all twelve bodies have been

recovered--that is, in three or four days, for the work is only

to be proceeded with at night,--they will be taken to the Salle

d'Armes, there to await the official obsequies.

On the morning following the night during which the last body was lifted

from within the _Neptune_, there ran a curious rumour through the

fishing quarter of the town. It was said that thirteen bodies--not

twelve, as declared the official report--had been taken out of the

_Neptune_. It was declared on the authority of one of the seamen--a

Gascon, be it noted--who had been there on that first night, that five,

not four, bodies had been conveyed to the hospital barge.

But the rumour, though it found an echo in the French press, was not

regarded as worth an official denial, and it received its final quietus

on the day of the official obsequies, when it was at once seen that the

number of ammunition wagons heading the great procession was twelve.

* * * * *

As long as tradition endures in the life of the town, Falaise will

remember the _Neptune_ funeral procession. Not only was every navy in

the world represented, but also every strand of that loosely woven human

fabric we civilized peoples call a nation.

Through the long line of soldiers, each man with his arms reversed,

walked the official mourners, while from the fortifications there boomed

the minute gun.

First the President of the French Republic, with, to his right, the

Minister of Marine; and close behind them the stiff, still vigorous,

figure of old Admiral de Saint Vilquier. By his side walked the Mayor of

Falaise--so mortally pale, so what the French call undone, that the

Admiral felt fearful lest his neighbour should be compelled to fall out.

But Jacques de Wissant was not minded to fall out.

The crowd looking on, especially the wives of those substantial citizens

of the town who stood at their windows behind half-closed shutters and

drawn blinds, stared down at the mayor with pitying concern.

"He has a warm heart though a cold manner," murmured these ladies to one

another, "and just now, you know, he is in great anxiety, for his

wife--that beautiful Claire with whom he doesn't get on very well--is in

Italy, seriously ill of scarlet fever." "Yes, and as soon as this sad

ceremony is over, he will leave for the south--I hear that the President

has offered him a seat in his saloon as far as Paris."

As the head of the procession at last stopped on the great parade ground

where the last honours were to be rendered to the lowly yet illustrious

dead, Jacques de Wissant straightened himself with an instinctive

gesture, and his lips began to move. He was muttering to himself the

speech he would soon have to deliver, and which he had that morning,

making a great mental effort, committed to memory.

And after the President had had his long, emotional, and flowery say;

and when the oldest of French admirals had stepped forward and, in a

quavering voice, bidden the dead farewell on behalf of the Navy, it came

to the turn of the Mayor of Falaise.

He was there, he said, simply as the mouth-piece of his fellow-townsmen,

and they, bowed as they were by deep personal grief, could say but

little--they could indeed only murmur their eternal gratitude for the

sympathy they had received, and were now receiving, from their

countrymen and from the world.

Then Jacques de Wissant gave a brief personal account of each of the ten

seamen whom this vast concourse had gathered together to honour. It was

noted by the curious in such things that he made no allusion to the two

officers, to Commander Dupré and Lieutenant Paritot; doubtless he

thought that they, after all, had been amply honoured in the preceding

speeches.

But though his care for the lowly heroes proved the Mayor of Falaise a

good republican, he showed himself in the popular estimation also a

scholar, for he wound up with the old tag--the grand old tag which

inspired so many noble souls in the proudest of ancient empires and

civilizations, and which will retain the power of moving and thrilling

generations yet unborn in both the Western and the Eastern worlds:

"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori."