“François must be hiding … and M. Stéphane too … The island has safe hiding-places, which Maguennoc showed them. We shan’t see them, therefore; and no one will know anything about them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite. So listen to me. Tomorrow, when everybody has left Sarek and when we two are alone, I shall blow the signal with my horn and he will come here.”
Véronique was horrified:
“But I don’t want to see him!” she exclaimed, indignantly. “I loathe him! … Like my father, I curse him! … Have you forgotten? He killed my father, before our eyes! He killed Marie Le Goff! He tried to kill you! … No, what I feel for him is hatred and disgust! The monster!”
The Breton woman took her hand, as she had formed a habit of doing, and murmured:
“Don’t condemn him yet. … He did not know what he was doing.”
“What do you mean? He didn’t know? Why, I saw his eyes, Vorski’s eyes!”
“He did not know … he was mad.”
“Mad? Nonsense!”
“Yes, Madame Véronique. I know the boy. He’s the kindest creature on earth. If he did all this, it was because he went mad suddenly … he and M. Stéphane. They must both be weeping in despair now.”
“It’s impossible. I can’t believe it.”
“You can’t believe it because you know nothing of what is happening … and of what is going to happen. … But, if you did know … Oh, there are things … there are things!”
Her voice was no longer audible. She was silent, but her eyes remained wide open and her lips moved without uttering a sound.
Nothing occurred until the morning. At five o’clock Véronique heard them nailing down the coffins; and almost immediately afterwards the door of the room in which she sat was opened and the sisters Archignat entered like a whirlwind, both greatly excited.
They had heard the truth from Corréjou, who, to give himself courage, had taken a drop too much to drink and was talking at random:
“Maguennoc is dead!” they screamed. “Maguennoc is dead and you never told us! Give us our money, quick! We’re going!”
The moment they were paid, they ran away as fast as their legs would carry them; and, an hour later, some other women, informed by them, came hurrying to drag their men from their work. They all used the same words:
“We must go! We must get ready to start! … It’ll be too late afterwards. The two boats can take us all.”
Honorine had to intervene with all her authority and Véronique was obliged to distribute money. And the funeral was hurriedly conducted. Not far away was an old chapel, carefully restored by M. d’Hergemont, where a priest came once a month from Pont-l’Abbé to say mass. Beside it was the ancient cemetery of the abbots of Sarek. The two bodies were buried here; and an old man, who in ordinary times acted as sacristan, mumbled the blessing.
All the people seemed smitten with madness. Their voices and movements were spasmodic. They were obsessed with the fixed idea of leaving the island and paid no attention to Véronique, who knelt a little way off, praying and weeping.
It was all over before eight o’clock. Men and women made their way down across the island. Véronique, who felt as though she were living in a nightmare world where events followed upon one another without logic and with no connected sequence, went back to Honorine, whose feeble condition had prevented her from attending her master’s funeral.
“I’m feeling better,” said the Breton woman. “We shall go today or tomorrow and we shall go with François.”
Véronique protested angrily; but Honorine repeated:
“With François, I tell you, and with M. Stéphane. And as soon as possible. I also want to go … and to take you with me … and François too. There is death in the island. Death is the master here. We must leave Sarek. We shall all go.”
Véronique did not wish to thwart her. But at nine o’clock hurried steps were heard outside. It was Corréjou, coming from the village. On reaching the door he shouted:
“They’ve stolen your motorboat, Ma’me Honorine! She’s disappeared!”
“Impossible!” said Honorine.
But the sailor, all out of breath, declared:
“She’s disappeared. I suspected something this morning early. But I expect I had had a glass too much; I did not give it another thought. Others have since seen what I did. The painter has been cut. … It happened during the night. And they’ve made off. No one saw or heard them.”
The two women exchanged glances; and the same thought occurred to both of them: François and Stéphane Maroux had taken to flight.
Honorine muttered between her teeth:
“Yes, yes, that’s it: he understands how to work the boat.”
Véronique perhaps felt a certain relief at knowing that the boy had gone and that she would not see him again. But Honorine, seized with a renewed fear, exclaimed:
“Then … then what are we to do?”
“You must leave at once, Ma’me Honorine. The boats are ready … everybody’s packing up. There’ll be no one in the village by eleven o’clock.”
Véronique interposed:
“Honorine’s not in a condition to travel.”
“Yes, I am; I’m better,” the Breton woman declared.
“No, it would be ridiculous. Let us wait a day or two. … Come back in two days, Corréjou.”
She pushed the sailor towards the door. He, for that matter, was only too anxious to go:
“Very well,” he said, “that’ll do: I’ll come back the day after tomorrow. Besides, we can’t take everything with us. We shall have to come back now and again to fetch our things. … Goodbye, Ma’me Honorine; take care of yourself.”
And he ran outside.
“Corréjou! Corréjou!”
Honorine was sitting up in bed and calling to him in despair:
“No, no, don’t go away, Corréjou! … Wait for me and carry me to your boat.”
She listened; and, as the man did not return, she tried to get up:
“I’m frightened,” she said. “I don’t want to be
