the poor man's eyes filled with tears.
"Well," said the other, "if this last resource fail you?"
"Well," returned Morrel, "it is a cruel thing to be forced to
say, but, already used to misfortune, I must habituate myself to
shame. I fear I shall be forced to suspend payment."
"Have you no friends who could assist you?" Morrel smiled
mournfully. "In business, sir," said he, "one has no friends, only
correspondents."
"It is true," murmured the Englishman; "then you have but one
hope."
"But one."
"The last?"
"The last."
"So that if this fail" —
"I am ruined, — completely ruined!"
"As I was on my way here, a vessel was coming into port."
"I know it, sir; a young man, who still adheres to my fallen
fortunes, passes a part of his time in a belvidere at the top of
the house, in hopes of being the first to announce good news to me;
he has informed me of the arrival of this ship."
"And it is not yours?"
"No, she is a Bordeaux vessel, La Gironde; she comes from India
also; but she is not mine."
"Perhaps she has spoken the Pharaon, and brings you some tidings
of her?"
"Shall I tell you plainly one thing, sir? I dread almost as much
to receive any tidings of my vessel as to remain in doubt.
Uncertainty is still hope." Then in a low voice Morrel added, —
"This delay is not natural. The Pharaon left Calcutta the 5th
February; she ought to have been here a month ago."
"What is that?" said the Englishman. "What is the meaning of
that noise?"
"Oh, oh!" cried Morrel, turning pale, "what is it?" A loud noise
was heard on the stairs of people moving hastily, and half-stifled
sobs. Morrel rose and advanced to the door; but his strength failed
him and he sank into a chair. The two men remained opposite one
another, Morrel trembling in every limb, the stranger gazing at him
with an air of profound pity. The noise had ceased; but it seemed
that Morrel expected something — something had occasioned the
noise, and something must follow. The stranger fancied he heard
footsteps on the stairs; and that the footsteps, which were thosefootsteps on the stairs; and that the footsteps, which were those
of several persons, stopped at the door. A key was inserted in the
lock of the first door, and the creaking of hinges was audible.
"There are only two persons who have the key to that door,"
murmured Morrel, "Cocles and Julie." At this instant the second
door opened, and the young girl, her eyes bathed with tears,
appeared. Morrel rose tremblingly, supporting himself by the arm of
the chair. He would have spoken, but his voice failed him. "Oh,
father!" said she, clasping her hands, "forgive your child for
being the bearer of evil tidings."
Morrel again changed color. Julie threw herself into his
arms.
"Oh, father, father!" murmured she, "courage!"
"The Pharaon has gone down, then?" said Morrel in a hoarse
voice. The young girl did not speak; but she made an affirmative
sign with her head as she lay on her father's breast.
"And the crew?" asked Morrel.
"Saved," said the girl; "saved by the crew of the vessel that
has just entered the harbor." Morrel raised his two hands to heaven
with an expression of resignation and sublime gratitude. "Thanks,
my God," said he, "at least thou strikest but me alone." A tear
moistened the eye of the phlegmatic Englishman.
"Come in, come in," said Morrel, "for I presume you are all at
the door."
Scarcely had he uttered those words than Madame Morrel entered
weeping bitterly. Emmanuel followed her, and in the antechamber
were visible the rough faces of seven or eight half-naked sailors.
At the sight of these men the Englishman started and advanced a
step; then restrained himself, and retired into the farthest and
most obscure corner of the apartment. Madame Morrel sat down by her
husband and took one of his hands in hers, Julie still lay with her
head on his shoulder, Emmanuel stood in the centre of the chamber
and seemed to form the link between Morrel's family and the sailors
at the door.
"How did this happen?" said Morrel.
"Draw nearer, Penelon," said the young man, "and tell us all
about it.""Draw nearer, Penelon," said the young man, "and tell us all
about it."
An old seaman, bronzed by the tropical sun, advanced, twirling
the remains of a tarpaulin between his hands. "Good-day, M.
Morrel," said he, as if he had just quitted Marseilles the previous
evening, and had just returned from Aix or Toulon.
"Good-day, Penelon," returned Morrel, who could not refrain from
smiling through his tears, "where is the captain?"
"The captain, M. Morrel, — he has stayed behind sick at Palma;
but please God, it won't be much, and you will see him in a few
days all alive and hearty."
"Well, now tell your story, Penelon."
Penelon rolled his quid in his cheek, placed his hand before his
mouth, turned his head, and sent a long jet of tobacco-juice into
the antechamber, advanced his foot, balanced himself, and began, —
"You see, M. Morrel," said he, "we were somewhere between Cape
Blanc and Cape Boyador, sailing with a fair breeze,
south-south-west after a week's calm, when Captain Gaumard comes up
to me — I was at the helm I should tell you — and says, `Penelon,
what do you think of those clouds coming up over there?' I was just
then looking at them myself. `What do I think, captain? Why I think
that they are rising faster than they have any business to do, and
that they would not be so black if they didn't mean mischief.' —
`That's my opinion too,' said the captain, `and I'll take
precautions accordingly. We are carrying too much canvas. Avast,
there, all hands! Take in the studding-sl's and stow the flying
jib.' It was time; the squall was on us, and the vessel began to
heel. `Ah,' said the captain, `we have still too much canvas set;
all hands lower the mains'l!' Five minutes after, it was down; and
we sailed under mizzen-tops'ls and to'gall'nt sails. `Well,
Penelon,' said the captain, `what makes you shake your head?'
`Why,' I says, `I still think you've got too much on.' `I think
you're right,' answered he, `we shall have a gale.' `A gale? More
than that, we shall have a tempest, or I don't know what's what.'