"What do you mean, the line?" "Why, the company only troubles about its own boats. If others care to put to sea, that is their look-out; we can't prevent them." "But," said Simon, beginning to feel uneasy, "I suppose none has ventured to sail just lately?" "Yes, there was one, about an hour ago." "Oh? Did you see her?" "Yes, she was a yacht, belonging to an Englishman." "Edward Rolleston, perhaps?" cried Simon, more or less at a venture. "Yes, I believe it was, . . . Rolleston. Yes, yes, that's it: an Englishmen who had just put his yacht in commission." Simon suddenly realized the truth. Rolleston, who was staying at Dieppe, happened to hear of Isabel's arrival, called at her hotel and, at her request, gave orders to sail. Of course, he was the only man capable of risking the adventure and of bribing his crew with a lavish distribution of bank-notes. The young Englishman's behaviour gave proof of such courage and devotion that Simon at once recovered his normal composure. Against Rolleston he felt neither anger nor resentment. He mastered his fears and determined to have confidence. The clouds were gliding over the town, so low that their black shapes could be distinguished in the darkness of the night. He crossed the front and leant upon the balustrade which borders the Boulevard Maritime. Thence he could see the white foam of the heavy breakers on the distant sands and hear their vicious assault upon the rocks. Nevertheless, the expected storm was not yet unleashed. More terrible in its continual, nerve-racking menace, it seemed to be waiting for reinforcements and to be delaying its onslaught only to render it more impetuous. "Isabel will have time to reach the other side," said Simon. He was now quite calm, full of faith in the present and the future. In absolute agreement with Isabel, he approved of her departure; it caused him no suffering. "Come," he thought, "it is time to act." He now recognized the purpose in view of which he had been preparing for years and years: it was to win a woman who was dearer to him than anything on earth and whose conquest would force him to claim that place in the world which his merits deserved. He had done with hoarding. His duty was to spend, ay, to squander, like a prodigal scattering gold by the handful, without fear of ever exhausting his treasure. "The time has come," he repeated. "If I am good for anything, I must prove it. If I was right to wait and husband my resources, I must prove it." He began to walk along the boulevard, his head erect, his chest expanded, striking the ground with a ringing step. The wind was rising to a gale. Furious showers swept the air. These were trifles to a Simon Dubosc, whose body, clad at all times of the year in light materials, took no heed of the rough weather and, even at the end of a day marked by so many trials, did not betray the slightest symptom of fatigue.