11. Jack Renauld

           Whatthenextdevelopmentoftheconversationwouldhavebeen,Icannotsay,foratthatmomentthedoorwasthrownviolentlyopen,andatallyoungmanstrodeintotheroom.

           JustforamomentIhadtheuncannysensationthatthedeadmanhadcometolifeagain.ThenIrealizedthatthisdarkheadwasuntouchedwithgrey,andthat,inpointoffact,itwasamereboywhonowburstinamonguswithsolittleceremony.HewentstraighttoMrs.Renauldwithanimpetuositythattooknoheedofthepresenceofothers.

           “Mother!”

           “Jack!”Withacryshefoldedhiminherarms.“Mydearest!Butwhatbringsyouhere?YouweretosailontheAnzorafromCherbourgtwodaysago?”Then,suddenlyrecallingtoherselfthepresenceofothers,sheturnedwithacertaindignity,“Myson,messieurs.”

           “Aha!”saidM.Hautet,acknowledgingtheyoungman’sbow.“SoyoudidnotsailontheAnzora?”

           “No,monsieur.AsIwasabouttoexplain,theAnzorawasdetainedtwenty-fourhoursthroughenginetrouble.Ishouldhavesailedlastnightinsteadofthenightbefore,but,happeningtobuyaneveningpaper,Isawinitanaccountofthe—theawfultragedythathadbefallenus—”Hisvoicebrokeandthetearscameintohiseyes.“Mypoorfather—mypoor,poor,father.”

           Staringathimlikeoneinadream,Mrs.Renauldrepeated:“Soyoudidnotsail?”Andthen,withagestureofinfiniteweariness,shemurmuredasthoughtoherself,“Afterall,itdoesnotmatter—now.”

           “Sitdown,M.Renauld,Ibegofyou,”saidM.Hautet,indicatingachair.“Mysympathyforyouisprofound.