OF OPENING A BOOK AT RANDOM

I

THE PEARL AT THE FOOT OF THE PRECIPICE

A few moments after his short colloquy with Sieur Landoys, Gilliatt was
at St. Sampson.

He was troubled, even anxious. What could it be that had happened.

There was a murmur in St. Sampson like that of a startled hive.
Everybody was at his door. The women were talking loud. There were
people who seemed relating some occurrence and who were gesticulating. A
group had gathered around them. The words could be heard, "What a
misfortune!" Some faces wore a smile.

Gilliatt interrogated no one. It was not in his nature to ask questions.
He was, moreover, too much moved to speak to strangers. He had no
confidence in rumours. He preferred to go direct to the Bravees.

His anxiety was so great that he was not even deterred from entering the
house.

The door of the great lower room opening upon the Quay, moreover, stood
quite open. There was a swarm of men and women on the threshold.
Everybody was going in, and Gilliatt went with the rest.

Entering he found Sieur Landoys standing near the doorposts.

"You have heard, no doubt, of this event?"

"No."

"I did not like to call it out to you on the road. It makes me like a
bird of evil omen."

"What has happened?"

"The Durande is lost."

There was a crowd in the great room.

The various groups spoke low, like people in a sick chamber.

The assemblage, which consisted of neighbours, the first comers,
curious to learn the news, huddled together near the door with a sort of
timidity, leaving clear the bottom of the room, where appeared
Deruchette sitting and in tears. Mess Lethierry stood beside her.

His back was against the wall at the end of the room. His sailor's cap
came down over his eyebrows. A lock of grey hair hung upon his cheek. He
said nothing. His arms were motionless; he seemed scarcely to breathe.
He had the look of something lifeless placed against the wall.

It was easy to see in his aspect a man whose life had been crushed
within him. The Durande being gone, Lethierry had no longer any object
in his existence. He had had a being on the sea; that being had suddenly
foundered. What could he do now? Rise every morning: go to sleep every
night. Never more to await the coming of the Durande; to see her get
under way, or steer again into the port. What was a remainder of
existence without object? To drink, to eat, and then?--He had crowned
the labours of his life by a