"God has heard it," answered Dérouchette.
Then she went forward; a moment afterwards, instead of one shadow upon
the path, there were two. They mingled together, and became one.
Gilliatt saw at his feet the embrace of those two shadows.
Suddenly a noise burst forth at a distance. A voice was heard crying
"Help!" and the harbour bell rang out on the night air.
It was Lethierry ringing the bell furiously. He had wakened, and seen
the funnel of the Durande in the harbour. The sight had driven him
almost crazy. He rushed out crying "Help!" and pulling the great bell of
the harbour. Suddenly he stopped abruptly. A man had just turned the
corner of the quay. It was Gilliatt. Lethierry rushed at him, embraced
him, hugged him, cried over him, and dragged him into the lower room of
the Bravées. "Give me your word that I am not crazy!" he kept crying.
"It can't be true. Not a tap, not a pin missing. It is incredible. We
have only to put in a little oil. What a revolution! You are my child,
my son, my Providence. Brave lad! To go and fetch my good old engine. In
the open sea among those cut-throat rocks. I have seen some strange
things in my life; nothing like that."
Gilliatt gave him the belt and the box containing the three thousand
pounds stolen by Clubin. Again Lethierry was thrown into a wild
amazement. "Did anyone ever see a man like Gilliatt?" he concluded. "I
was struck down to the ground, I was a dead man. He comes and sets me up
again as firm as ever. And all the while I was never thinking of him. He
had gone clean out of my mind; but I recollect everything now. Poor lad!
Ah, by the way, you know you are to marry Dérouchette."
Gilliatt leaned with his back against the wall, like one who staggers,
and said, in a tone very low, but distinct, "No."