Standing, both of us, on the yard of the foresail, our bodies swung out into the void, with one hand shading our eyes, with the other holding on to the cordage, we watched together, in the distance of the resplendent blue solitudes, the white line of breakers growing ever more distinct; the continuous noise they made was like the distant sound of a church organ in the midst of the silence of the sea. It was in fact a large coral island which no navigator had hitherto discovered; it had risen slowly from the depths below; century after century it had put forth patiently its branches of stone; even now it was only an immense crown of white foam, making, amid the infinite calm of the sea, the noise of a living thing, a kind of mysterious and eternal murmuring. Everywhere else the blue expanse was uniform, safe, deep, infinite; we could proceed on our way without misgiving. "You have won _the double_, brother," I said to Yves. I meant: the double ration of wine at dinner. On board, this _double_ is the usual recompense for a sailor who has been the first to sight land or to announce a danger--or for him who catches a rat without the help of a trap--or even for him who has turned himself out more smartly than the others for the Sunday inspection. Yves smiled, but with the air of one who suddenly has a sombre thought. "You know very well that now wine and I . . . But that's no matter, I can give it to the topmen at my table. They will drink it willingly enough." It was the fact that since the day when he had pushed little Pierre against the fire-irons in the grate, far away, in Brest, he had drunk only water. He had sworn this on the poor little wounded head, and it was the first solemn oath of his life. We were talking together, in the pure virgin air, among the loosely hanging sails, which looked very white in the sun, when the sound of a whistle came from below, a quite distinctive whistle which meant in nautical language: "The leader of the foresail top is wanted below. Let him come down quickly!" It was Yves who was leader of the foresail top; he descended in great haste to see what was wanted of him. The second-in-command had asked to see him in his room; and I knew very well why. In the remote and tranquil seas in which we were cruising the sailors became rather hazy about the seasons, the months and the days; they lost the sense of the passage of time in the monotony of the days. And in fact summer and winter had lost their qualities; they were no longer recognizable, for the climate was different. Nor did the things of nature serve now to mark them out. There was always this infinity of water, always this wooden house in which we dwelt, and, in the spring, there came no touch of green.