Slowly a complete darkness enveloped Geoffrey Renouard.His resolution had failed him.Instead of following Felicia into the house, he had stopped under the three palms, and leaning against a smooth trunk had abandoned himself to a sense of an immense deception and the feeling of extreme fatigue.This walk up the hill and down again was like the supreme effort of an explorer trying to penetrate the interior of an unknown country, the secret of which is too well defended by its cruel and barren nature.
Decoyed by a mirage, he had gone too far - so far that there was no going back.His strength was at an end.For the first time in his life he had to give up, and with a sort of despairing self-possession he tried to understand the cause of the defeat.He did not ascribe it to that absurd dead man.
The hesitating shadow of Luiz approached him unnoticed till it spoke timidly.Renouard started.
"Eh? What? Dinner waiting? You must say I beg to be excused.Ican't come.But I shall see them to-morrow morning, at the landing place.Take your orders from the professor as to the sailing of the schooner.Go now."Luiz, dumbfounded, retreated into the darkness.Renouard did not move, but hours afterwards, like the bitter fruit of his immobility, the words: "I had nothing to offer to her vanity,"came from his lips in the silence of the island.And it was then only that he stirred, only to wear the night out in restless tramping up and down the various paths of the plantation.Luiz, whose sleep was made light by the consciousness of some impending change, heard footsteps passing by his hut, the firm tread of the master; and turning on his mats emitted a faint Tse! Tse! Tse! of deep concern.
Lights had been burning in the bungalow almost all through the night; and with the first sign of day began the bustle of departure.House boys walked processionally carrying suit-cases and dressing-bags down to the schooner's boat, which came to the landing place at the bottom of the garden.Just as the rising sun threw its golden nimbus around the purple shape of the headland, the Planter of Malata was perceived pacing bare-headed the curve of the little bay.He exchanged a few words with the sailing-master of the schooner, then remained by the boat, standing very upright, his eyes on the ground, waiting.
He had not long to wait.Into the cool, overshadowed garden the professor descended first, and came jauntily down the path in a lively cracking of small shells.With his closed parasol hooked on his forearm, and a book in his hand, he resembled a banal tourist more than was permissible to a man of his unique distinction.He waved the disengaged arm from a distance, but at close quarters, arrested before Renouard's immobility, he made no offer to shake hands.He seemed to appraise the aspect of the man with a sharp glance, and made up his mind.
"We are going back by Suez," he began almost boisterously."I have been looking up the sailing lists.If the zephirs of your Pacific are only moderately propitious I think we are sure to catch the mail boat due in Marseilles on the 18th of March.This will suit me excellently...." He lowered his tone."My dear young friend, I'm deeply grateful to you."Renouard's set lips moved.
"Why are you grateful to me?"
"Ah! Why? In the first place you might have made us miss the next boat, mightn't you?...I don't thank you for your hospitality.
