“Ah! why did you not prevent my marriage, when you could do so by a
word? They think I have reached the summit of my wishes. I have never
been more wretched.”
This letter made Daniel utter an exclamation of rage. He saw nothing in
it but bitter irony.
“This miserable woman,” he thought, “laughs at me; and, when she says
she does not blame Henrietta, that means that she hates her, and will
persecute her.”
Maxime’s letter fortunately reassured him a little. Maxime confirmed
Sarah’s account, adding, moreover, that Miss Henrietta was very sad,
but calm and resigned; and that her step-mother treated her with the
greatest kindness. The surprising part was, that Brevan did not say a
word of the large amounts that had been intrusted to his care, nor of
his method of selling the lands, nor of the price which he had obtained.
But Daniel did not notice this; all his thoughts were with Henrietta.
“Why should she not have written,” he thought, “when all the others
found means to write?”
Overwhelmed with disappointment, he had sat down on a wooden bench in
the embrasure of one of the windows in the hall where the letters were
distributed. Travelling across the vast distance which separated him
from France, his thoughts were under the trees in the garden of the
count’s palace. He felt as if a powerful effort of his will would enable
him to transport himself thither. By the pale light of the moon he
thought he could discern the dress of his beloved as she stole towards
him between the old trees.
A friendly touch on the shoulder recalled him rudely to the real world.
Four or five officers from “The Conquest” were standing around him, gay,
and free from cares, a hearty laugh on their lips.
“Well, my dear Champcey,” they said, “are you coming?”
“Where?”
“Why, to dinner!”
And as he looked at them with the air of a man who had just been roused,
and has not had time to collect his thoughts, they went on,--
“Well, to dinner. It appears Saigon possesses an admirable French
restaurant, where the cook, a Parisian, is simply a great artist. Come,
get up, and let us go.”
But Daniel was in a humor which made solitude irresistibly attractive.
He trembled at the idea of being torn from his melancholy reveries, of
being compelled to take his part in conversation, to talk, to listen, to
reply.
“I cannot dine with you to-day, my friends,” he said to his comrades.
“You are joking.”
“No, I am not. I must return on board.” Then only, the others were
struck by the sad expression of his face; and, changing their tone, they
asked him in the most affectionate manner,--
“What is the matter, Champcey? Have you heard of any misfortune, any
death?”
“No.”
“You have had letters from France, I see.”
“They bring me nothing sad. I was expecting news, and they have not
come; that is all.”
“Oh! then you must come with us.”
“Do not force me; I would be a sorry companion.”
Still they insisted, as friends will insist who will not understand that
others may not be equally tempted by what charms them; but nothing could
induce Daniel to change his mind. At the door of the government house he
parted with his comrades, and went back, sad and solitary, towards the
harbor.
He reached without difficulty the banks of the Dong-Nai; but here
obstacles presented themselves of which he had not thought. The night
was so dark, that he could hardly see to find his way along a wharf in
process of construction, and covered with enormous stones and timber.
Not a light in all the native huts around. In spite of his efforts to
pierce this darkness, he could discern nothing but the dark outline
of the vessels lying at anchor in the river, and the light of the
lighthouse as it trembled in the current.
He called. No voice replied. The silence, which was as deep as the
darkness, was broken only by the low wash of the river as it flowed down
rapidly.
“I am quite capable,” thought Daniel, “of not finding the boat of ‘The
Conquest.’”
Still he did find it, after long search, drawn up, and half lost, in a
crowd of native boats. But the boat seemed to be empty. It was only when
he got into it, that he discovered a little midshipman fast asleep in
the bottom, wrapped up in a carpet which was used to cover the seats
for the officers. Daniel shook him. He rose slowly, and grumbling, as if
overcome by sleep.
“Well, what is the matter?” he growled.
“Where are the men?” asked Daniel.
Quite awake now, the midshipman, who had good eyes, had noticed, in
spite of the darkness, the gold of the epaulets. This made him very
respectful at once; and he replied,--
“Lieutenant, all the men are in town.”
“How so? All?”
“Why, yes, lieutenant! When all the officers had gone on shore, they
told the boatswain they would not come back very soon, and he might take
his time to eat a mouthful, and to drink a glass, provided the men did
not get drunk.”
That was so; and Daniel had forgotten the fact.
“And where did they go?” he asked.
“I don’t know, lieutenant.”
Daniel looked at the large, heavy boat, as if he had thought for a
moment to return in it to “The Conquest” with no other help but the
little midshipman; but, no, that was impracticable.
“Well, go to sleep again,” he said to the boy.
And jumping on shore, without uttering a word of disappointment, he was
going in search of his comrades, when he saw suddenly a man turn up out
of the darkness, whose features it was impossible to distinguish.
“Who is there?” he asked.
“Mr. Officer,” answered the man in an almost unintelligible jargon, a
horrible medley of French, Spanish, and English. “I heard you tell the
little man in the boat there”--
“Well?”
“I thought you wanted to get back on board your ship?”
“Why, yes.”
“Well, then, if you like it, I am a boatman; I can take you over.”
There was no reason why Daniel should mistrust the man. In all ports of
the world, and at any hour of the day or the night, men are to be found
who are lying in wait on the wharves for sailors who have been belated,
and who are made to pay dear for such extra services.
“Ah! you are a boatman, you say?” Daniel exclaimed, quite pleased at the
encounter. “Well, where is your boat?”
“There, Mr. Officer, a little way down; just follow me. But what ship do
you want to go to?”
“That ship there.”
And Daniel pointed out to him “The Conquest” as she lay not six hundred
yards off in the river, showing her lights.
“That is rather far,” grumbled the man; “the tide is low; and the
current is very strong.”
“I’ll give you a couple of francs for your trouble.”