"Do they yet know, Admiral, which of the submarines has gone down?" asked Jacques de Wissant in a low tone. He was full of a burning
curiosity edged with a longing and a suspense into whose secret sources
he had no wish to thrust a probe. The Admiral's weather-beaten face was a shade less red than usual; the
bright blue eyes he turned on the younger man were veiled with a film of
moisture. "Yes, the news has just come in, but it isn't to be made
public for awhile. It's the submarine _Neptune_ which was struck, with
Commander Dupré, Lieutenant Paritot, and ten men on board. The craft is
lying eighteen fathoms deep----"

Jacques de Wissant uttered an inarticulate cry--was it of horror or only
of surprise? And yet, gifted for that once and that once only with a
kind of second sight, he had known that it was the _Neptune_ and
Commander Dupré which lay eighteen fathoms deep on the floor of the sea. The old seaman, moved by the mayor's emotion, relaxed into a
confidential undertone. "Poor Dupré! I had forgotten that you knew him. He is indeed pursued by a malignant fate. As of course you are aware, he
applied a short time ago to be transferred to Toulon, and his
appointment is in to-day's _Gazette_. In fact he was actually leaving
Falaise this very evening in order to spend a week with his family
before taking up his new command!" The Mayor of Falaise stared at the Admiral. "Dupré going away?--leaving
Falaise?" he repeated incredulously. The other nodded. Jacques de Wissant drew a long, deep breath. God! How mistaken he had
been! Mistaken as no man, no husband, had ever been mistaken before. He
felt overwhelmed, shaken with conflicting emotions in which shame and
intense relief predominated. The fact that Commander Dupré had applied for promotion was to his mind
absolute proof that there had been nothing--nothing and less than
nothing--between the naval officer and Claire. The Admiral's words now
made it clear that he, Jacques de Wissant, had built up a huge
superstructure of jealousy and base thoughts on the fact that poor Dupré
and Claire had innocently enjoyed certain tastes in common. True, such
friendships--friendships between unmarried men and attractive young
married women--are generally speaking to be deprecated. Still, Claire
had always been "correct;" of that there could now be no doubt. As he stood there on the pier, staring out, as all those about him and
behind him were doing, at the expanse of dark blue sun-flecked sea,
there came over Jacques de Wissant a great lightening of the spirit.... But all too soon his mind, his memory, swung back to the tragic business
of the moment. Suddenly the Admiral burst into speech, addressing himself, rather than
the silent man by his side. "The devil of it is," he exclaimed, "that the nearest salvage appliances
are at Cherbourg! Thank God, the Ministry of Marine are alone
responsible for that blunder. Dupré and his comrades have, it seems,
thirty-six hours' supply of oxygen--if, indeed, they are still living,
which I feel tempted to hope they are not. You see, Monsieur de Wissant,
I was at Bizerta when the _Lutin_ sank. A man doesn't want to remember
two such incidents in his career. One is quite bad enough!" "I suppose it isn't yet known how far the _Neptune_ is injured?" inquired the Mayor of Falaise. But he spoke mechanically; he was not really thinking of what he was
saying. His inner and real self were still steeped in that strange
mingled feeling of shame and relief--shame that he should have suspected
his wife, exultant relief that his jealousy should have been so entirely
unfounded. "No, as usual no one knows exactly what did happen. But we shall learn
something of that presently. The divers are on their way. But--but even
if the craft did sustain no injury, what can they do? Ants might as well
attempt to pierce a cannon-ball"--he shrugged his shoulders, oppressed
by the vision his homely simile had conjured up. And then--for no particular reason, save that his wife Claire was very
present to him--Jacques de Wissant bethought himself that it was most
unlikely that any tidings of the accident could yet have reached the
Châlet des Dunes, the lonely villa on the shore where Claire was now
lunching with her sister. But at any moment some casual visitor from the
town might come out there with the sad news. He told himself uneasily
that it would be well, if possible, to save his wife from such a shock. After all, Claire and that excellent Commander Dupré had been good
friends--so much must be admitted, nay, now he was eager to admit it. Jacques de Wissant touched the older man on the arm. "I should be most grateful, Admiral, for the loan of your motor-car. I
have just remembered that I ought to go home for an hour. This terrible
affair made me forget it; but I shall not be long--indeed, I must soon
be back, for there will be all sorts of arrangements to be made at the
town hall. Of course we shall be besieged with inquiries, with messages
from Paris, with telegrams----"

"My car, monsieur, is entirely at your disposal." The Admiral could not help feeling, even at so sad and solemn a moment
as this, a little satirical amusement. Arrangements at the town hall,
forsooth! If the end of the world were in sight, the claims of the
municipality of Falaise would not be neglected or forgotten; in as far
as Jacques de Wissant could arrange it, everything in such a case would
be ready at the town hall, if not on the quarter-deck, for the Great
Assize! What had a naval disaster to do with the Mayor of Falaise, after all? But in this matter the old Admiral allowed prejudice to get the better
of him; the men now immured in the submarine were, with two
exceptions--their commander and his junior officer--all citizens of the
town. It was their mothers, wives, children, sweethearts, who were now
pressing with wild, agonized faces against the barriers drawn across the
end of the pier....

As Jacques de Wissant made his way through the crowd, his grey
frock-coat was pulled by many a horny hand, and imploring faces gazed
with piteous questioning into his. But he could give them no comfort. Not till he found himself actually in the Admiral's car did he give his
instructions to the chauffeur. "Take me to the Châlet des Dunes as quickly as you can drive without
danger," he said briefly. "You probably know where it is?" The man nodded and looked round consideringly. He had never driven so
elegantly attired a gentleman before. Why, M. de Wissant looked like a
bridegroom! The Mayor of Falaise should be good for a handsome tip. The chauffeur did not need to be told that on such a day time was of
importance, and once they were out of the narrow, tortuous streets of
the town, the Admiral's car flew. And then, for the first time that day, Jacques de Wissant began to feel
pleasantly cool, nay, there even came over him a certain exhilaration. He had been foolish to hold out against motor-cars. There was a great
deal to be said for them, after all.