As the passenger was returning to his cabin, a sudden roll of the boat threw him from the wall which he was using as a support, against one of the ship’s boats, suspended in its davits. He threw his arms out convulsively and, clutching the davit ropes, gazed down at the sea with the horrified expression of a man brought suddenly face to face with death.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ cried the captain, who was following him at a distance.

And he went and helped him back to his cabin.

That day passed like the others, except for the fact that the captain asked fewer question than usual. He had evidently become resigned to a silence which no effort of his could break and he even seemed, by an impulse of good nature which did him honour, to be trying to be more agreeable to the passenger than he had been up to that time. Was it because the really dejected expression of the traveller aroused his pity? At times the captain looked at him out of the corner of his eye and shook his head sadly. The traveller ate very little and spent most of his time bent over his plate, rubbing his knees unceasingly with the palms of his hands. From his high-buttoned frock-coat and his poor but neat appearance, one might have taken him for a teacher.

The last day broke on a hazy but calm sea and, when the two men sat down at the table together for the last time, the sky was radiant; the gusts of cool air had a perfume in which one might imagine one already distinguished the delicious odour of earth and trees.

‘Well,’ said the captain, pouring out wine for his guest, ‘let’s part good friends. Let’s drink to each other’s health.’

The man seemed dazed and in anguish. He raised his glass and held it in the air for a moment. Then he suddenly let it fall to the tablecloth and to the floor.

‘I have something to tell you,’ he murmured.

He grew pale and repeated what he had said in a louder tone, as if he were afraid that the captain had not heard him. The latter seemed overcome with surprise and joy.

‘Well,’ said he, laughing, ‘didn’t I tell you? I knew that you would end by talking. I know the sea!’ And he gave a sonorous laugh in which a certain embarrassment was noticeable. ‘Compose yourself,’ he continued, seeing that the traveller was trembling. ‘You can tell me anything, you know. I’m a perfect father confessor.’

Then the traveller put both hands on the table and bowed his head in the attitude of a person collecting his thoughts. And he told his story.

When he had finished, the captain said:

‘Well?’

‘Well, that’s all,’ answered the passenger.

‘What!’ exclaimed Suger. ‘That’s why you left the country? You’re crazy. You were unmolested in France. …’

‘I was not easy in my mind.’

‘You might as well have been. No one suspected you.’

The traveller shook his head.