"What do you say to this, my boy? Did I prophesy it all, or did I not? Read my pamphlet on _The Channel in the Year 2000_ and you'll see. And then remember all I told you the other morning, at Newhaven station. Well, there you are: the two countries are joined together as they were once before, in the Eocene epoch." Awakened with a start by Old Sandstone, Simon, with eyes still heavy with slumber, gazed vacantly at the hotel bed-room in which he had been sleeping, at his old professor, walking to and fro, and at another person, who was sitting in the dark and who seemed to be an acquaintance of Old Sandstone's. "Ah!" yawned Simon. "But what's the time?" "Seven o'clock in the evening, my son." "What? Seven o'clock? Have I been sleeping since last night's meeting at the Casino?" "Rather! I was strolling about this morning, when I heard of your adventure. 'Simon Dubosc! I know him.' said I. I ran like mad. I rapped on the door. I came in. Nothing would wake you. I went away, came back again and so on, until I decided to sit down by your bedside and wait." Simon leapt out of bed. New clothes and clean linen had been laid out in the bathroom; and he saw, hanging on the wall, his jacket, the same with which he had covered the bare shoulders of the young woman whom he had released. "Who brought that?" he asked. "That? What?" asked Old Sandstone. Simon turned to him. "Tell me, professor, did any one come to this room while you were here?" "Yes, lots of people. They came in as they liked: admirers, idle sightseers. . . ." "Did a woman come in?" "Upon my word, I didn't notice. . . . Why?" "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!"