The difference in their respective ages did not seem to mar the happiness of the keeper and the orphan girl. Both were possessed of that which renders marriage a blessing--the simple mind and the heart of kindly impulse. Children came, to draw still closer these ties, and to enliven their hearth. The younger was just born, when Dorot lost his wife, and was left alone with his son Michael, thirteen years of age. This premature widowerhood had revived the friendship of the two old shipmates. Their intercourse became more frequent. The skiff that served both establishments was stationed at the little haven of the Ile des Morts, and was thus at the disposition of the artillery-man, who missed no opportunity of coming to pass a few hours with his neighbours. But notwithstanding their proximity, and the ease with which the passage was made, these visits could not be of daily occurrence. Dorot was obliged to be constantly on the watch; his official orders were equally sudden and unforeseen; nor could he expose himself to the risk of too frequent absence. His appearance therefore at the lazaretto had not ceased to be a happy exception to the rule. Father, mother, and children alike found in it a festal occasion; and it was never without great rejoicing that the signal was observed announcing the agreeable visit, and the boat seen putting out from the little landing-place and stretching over towards Trébéron. This time, so soon as Ropars saw her on the way, he went down to meet her. Scarcely had she touched the ground, when Michael jumped ashore, threw his arms about the keeper, then about the two little girls, and then ran off with the latter towards the house. Dorot stepping out in turn, shook hands heartily with Mathieu; and the pair, chatting, slowly began the ascent. Having reached the summit of the cliff, they faced about by force of habit, to take a look out to sea. The artillery-man remarked that the frigate had just clewed up her lower sails. --"God help us! she's going to anchor," said he; "did you ever see, Mathieu, a homeward-bound ship let go so far from land?" --"That depends," replied the old quarter-master; "we hold off when we mistrust a fort, or are afraid of reefs." --"But there's nothing of that sort here," remarked Dorot; "the frigate has no need to fear the guns of the Castle which are her very good friends, or the roadstead which is as safe an anchorage as if she were fast in the dry-dock. There must be something extraordinary." --"Perhaps the ship has to perform quarantine," suggested Ropars; "the _Thetis_ is expected." --"That's it; you've named her," cried the artillery-man, winking his eye and shading his forehead with one hand so as to look more fixedly at the distant vessel; "it is the _Thetis_, or I'm a heathen. I had her down yonder for a week, when she took her powder on board; I know her by the set of her masts and by her bearing on the water."