"Why?" replied Simon, explaining. "Because last night, while I was
asleep, I several times had the impression that a woman came up to me
and bent over me. . . ."

Old Sandstone shrugged his shoulders:

"You've been dreaming, my boy. When one's badly overtired, one's
likely to have those nightmares. . . ."

"But it wasn't in the very least a nightmare!" said Simon, laughing.

"It's stuff and nonsense, in any case!" cried Old Sandstone. "What
does it matter? There's only one thing that matters: this sudden
joining up of the two coasts . . . ! It's fairly tremendous, what?
What do you think of it? It's more than a bridge thrown from shore to
shore. It's more than a tunnel. It's a flesh-and-blood tie, a
permanent junction, an isthmus, what? The Sussex Isthmus, the Isthmus
of Normandy, they've already christened it."

Simon jested:

"Oh, an isthmus! . . . A mere causeway, at most!"

"You're drivelling!" cried Old Sandstone. "Don't you know what
happened last night? Why, of course not, the fellow knows nothing! He
was asleep! . . . Then you didn't realize that there was another
earthquake? Quite a slight one, but still . . . an earthquake? No? You
didn't wake up? In that case, my boy, listen to the incredible truth,
which surpasses what any one could have foreseen. It's no longer a
question of the strip of earth which you crossed from Dieppe to
Hastings. That was the first attempt, just a little trial phenomenon.
But since then . . . oh, since then, my boy . . . you're listening,
aren't you? Well, there, from Fecamp to Cape Gris-nez in France and
from the west of Brighton to Folkestone in England: all that part, my
boy, is now one solid mass. Yes, it forms a permanent junction,
seventy to ninety miles wide, a bit of exposed ground equivalent at
least to two large French departments or two fair-sized English
counties. Nature hasn't done badly . . . for a few hours' work! What
say you?"

Simon listened in amazement:

"Is it possible? Are you sure? But then it will be the cause of
unspeakable losses. Think: all the coast-towns ruined . . . and trade
. . . navigation. . . ."

And Simon, thinking of his father and the vessels locked up in Dieppe
harbour, repeated:

"Are you quite sure?"

"Why, of course I am!" said Old Sandstone, to whom all these
considerations were utterly devoid of interest. "Of course I'm sure! A
hundred telegrams, from all sides, vouch for the fact. What's more,
read the evening papers. Oh