“She had nothing to say....” “She ought to have signaled her daily position....” “She should have replied when she was called....” “We shall see to-morrow...!” The cards fall, the dominoes grate, the newspapers crackle, and the pipes pull. All in this little world are silent, absorbed in their game, their reading or their reveries. But it is appearance only. Yesterday afternoon we talked with the _Gambetta_; last night she cruised in the sector where we were to go. For twenty-four hours she has been silent. In the cards, in the papers, and the smoke from the pipes, each one of us reads these disquieting thoughts. But no one speaks of it. I go to bed, for I have to take the watch again in the middle of the night. Jimmino trots behind me, installs himself near the pillow, and sleeps with a dreamless slumber. But I await through the long hours some news of the _Gambetta_. Eyes closed or open, I cannot escape being haunted by her. All my comrades tell me they have passed a sleepless night. In the shadow I go up to take the watch. My predecessor repeats the sacred phrases. I interrupt him: “But the _Gambetta_?” “Nothing.” “What do you think of it?” “Nothing.” “Do you believe that...?” I dare not finish. He dares not answer, but disappears in the darkness. I fix my eyes on this treacherous sea which never gives up its secrets. An anguish with iron fingers presses my heart. There is no more doubt of it, death has passed over one of our brothers. Each hour that slips by proves the magnitude of the disaster, and if no news ever reaches us, it will be because all at one stroke eight hundred men will have plunged into the sea. Leaning on the rail, I stroke the metal mechanically, and the wood and canvas which meet my hand. I enjoy feeling the good cruiser, alive and in motion, quivering under me. I realize how much I love her, and it seems to me, that in order to pierce the darkness, my eyes take on the acuteness of a father’s who scans the face of a child of his that is menaced by death. A little later our wireless operator sends me a bundle of messages. With nervous fingers the ensign translator turns over his codes and dictionaries in order to transform these ciphers into French. Each minute I go to his shoulder to read the line, or the half-line, or the word he has transcribed. Heavens! How long it takes to spell out the horror! * * * * * It happened yesterday evening, during that fatal watch which I found so beautiful. The moon was quite round; the sea was transparent, and I saw nothing on it. Like me the officers on watch on the _Gambetta_ were weary of their useless vigil; at the end of their route they saw the gleam of the lighthouse at Santa Maria di Leuca. In the distance passed the shadows which I should have seen if the _Waldeck-Rousseau_ had cruised in the sector which it was to have had. These shadows were ships going along the Italian coast.