Nothing occurred until the morning. At five o'clock Veronique 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 Correjou, 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 Veronique was obliged to distribute money. And the funeral was hurriedly conducted. Not far away was an old chapel, carefully restored by M.[Pg 74] d'Hergemont, where a priest came once a month from Pont-l'Abbe 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 Veronique, 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. Veronique, 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 to-day or to-morrow and we shall go with Francois."
Veronique protested angrily; but Honorine repeated:
"With Francois, I tell you, and with M. Stephane. And as soon as possible. I also want to go… and to take you with me… and Francois too. There is death in the island. Death is the master here. We must leave Sarek. We shall all go."
Veronique did not wish to thwart her. But at nine o'clock hurried steps were heard outside. It was Correjou, coming from the village. On reaching the door he shouted:
[Pg 75]"They've stolen your motor-boat, 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: Francois and Stephane Maroux had taken to flight.
Honorine muttered between her teeth:
"Yes, yes, that's it: he understands how to work the boat."
Veronique 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."
Veronique 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, Correjou."
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 to-morrow. Besides, we can't take[Pg 76] everything with us. We shall have to come back now and again to fetch our things… Good-bye, Ma'me Honorine; take care of yourself."
And he ran outside.
"Correjou! Correjou!"
Honorine was sitting up in bed and calling to him in despair:
"No, no, don't go away, Correjou!… 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 left alone."
Veronique held her down:
"You're not going to be left alone, Honorine. I shan't leave you."
There was an actual struggle between the two women; and Honorine, pushed back on her bed by main force, moaned, helplessly:
"I'm frightened… I'm frightened… The island is accursed… It's tempting Providence to remain behind… Maguennoc's death was a warning… I'm frightened…"
She was more or less delirious, but still retained a half-lucidity which enabled her to intersperse a few intelligible and reasonable remarks among the incoherent phrases which revealed her superstitious Breton soul.
She gripped Veronique by her two shoulders and declared:
"I tell you, the island's cursed. Maguennoc confessed as much himself one day: 'Sarek is one of the gates of hell,' he said. 'The gate is closed now,[Pg 77] but, on the day when it opens, every misfortune you can think of will be upon it like a squall.'"
She calmed herself a little, at Veronique's entreaty, and continued, in a lower voice, which grew fainter as she spoke:
"He loved the island, though… as we all do. At such times he would speak of it in a way which I did not understand: 'The gate is a double one, Honorine, and it also opens on Paradise.' Yes, yes, the island was good to live in… We loved it… Maguennoc made flowers grow on it… Oh, those flowers! They were enormous: three times as tall… and as beautiful…"
The minutes passed slowly. The bedroom was at the extreme left of the house, just above the rocks which overhung the sea and separated from them only by the width of the road.
Veronique sat down at the window, with her eyes fixed on the white waves which grew still more troubled as the wind blew more strongly. The sun was rising. In the direction of the village she saw nothing except a steep headland. But, beyond the belt of foam studded with the black points of the reefs, the view embraced the deserted plains of the Atlantic.
Honorine murmured, drowsily:
"They say that the gate is a stone… and that it comes from very far away, from a foreign country. It's the God-Stone. They also say that it's a precious stone… the colour of gold and silver mixed… The God-Stone… The stone that gives life or death… Maguennoc saw it… He opened the gate and put his arm through[Pg 78]… And his hand… his hand was burnt to a cinder."
Veronique felt oppressed. Fear was gradually overcoming her also, like the oozing and soaking of stagnant water. The horrible events of the last few days, of which she had been a terrified witness, seemed to evoke others yet more dreadful, which she anticipated like an inevitable hurricane that is bound to carry off everything in its headlong course.
She expected them. She had no doubt that they would come, unloosed by the fatal power which was multiplying its terrible assaults upon her.
"Don't you see the boats?" asked Honorine.
"No," she said, "you can't see them from here."
"Yes, you can: they are sure to come this way. They are heavy boats: and there's a wider passage at the point."
The next moment, Veronique saw the bow of a boat project beyond the end of the headland. The boat lay low in the water, being very heavily laden, crammed with crates and parcels on which women and children were seated. Four men were rowing lustily.
"That's Correjou's," said Honorine, who had left her bed, half-dressed. "And there's the other: look."
The second boat came into view, equally burdened. Only three men were rowing, with a woman to help them.