Palmer was more disturbed by this letter than he cared to confess. Although he had always referred with apparent satisfaction to the certainty of a lasting friendship between Laurent and himself, he had not ceased to be anxious, in spite of himself, touching the sentiments which might spring to new life in Thérèse's heart when she should see him again. Not that he was conscious of this anxiety when he asserted the contrary; but he became conscious of it on the 18th of August, when the guns of the American man-of-war woke the echoes of the gulf of Spezzia with repeated farewell salutes, throughout the day. Each report made him jump, and, at the last one, he wrung his hands until he nearly cracked the joints. Thérèse was surprised. She had had no suspicion of Palmer's uneasiness since the explanation they had had together at the beginning of their residence in that neighborhood. "_Mon Dieu_! what is the matter?" she cried, watching him closely. "What presentiment----" "Yes! that is it," replied Palmer, hastily. "I have a presentiment--about Lawson, my friend from boyhood. I don't know why.--Yes, yes, it is a presentiment!" "Do you think that something will happen to him at sea?" "Perhaps. Who can tell? However, you will not be exposed to it, thank Heaven, as we are going to Paris." "The _Union_ is to touch at Brest, and remain there a fortnight. Are we not going to join her there?" "Yes, yes, to be sure, unless some catastrophe happens between now and then." Palmer continued downcast and depressed, nor could Thérèse imagine what was going on in his mind. How could she have imagined? Laurent was taking the waters at Baden; Palmer knew it perfectly well. Moreover, Laurent had his own marriage plans as he had written. They set off by post the next day, and returned to France by Turin and Mont Cenis, stopping nowhere on the way. The journey was extraordinarily dull. Palmer saw signs of disaster everywhere; he confessed to superstitions and mental foibles which were entirely foreign to his character. Ordinarily so placid and so mild a master, he indulged in savage fits of temper against the postilions, against the roads, against the customs officers, against the passers-by. Thérèse had never seen him in such a mood. She could not refrain from telling him so. He answered with meaningless words, but with so sombre an expression and so marked an accent of irritation, that she was afraid of him, and consequently of the future.