'Why could not Nadège let her alone?' he thought angrily as he looked across the shining sea to the gold of the far distance, where westward the island which had sheltered the happy childhood of Damaris lay unseen.
A few days later they left the coast for Amyôt and Paris. There was no record left of their visit to Bonaventure save the rough sketch which Loris Loswa had made, and from which he still meant some time, when he should have leisure, to create a great picture. One day Othmar bought the sketch of him at one of those exaggerated prices which Loswa could command for any trifle which he had touched.
When his wife saw it hanging in his room in Paris she laughed.
'You are determined,' she said, 'that I shall not forget my _Desclée manquée_.'
'I do not think you were kind to her,' said Othmar.
'I did not intend to be unkind, certainly. She gave me an impression of force, of talent, of a future: the sketch suggests that. But no doubt she has married the shipwright by this time. Little girls begin by dreaming of Réné and Némorin, but they end in making the _pot au feu_ for Jacques Bonhomme.'
'I do not think she will ever marry the boat-builder. I told you that we made it impossible for her.'
'I know you did; but then you have always _des billevesées romanesques_. The steward at St. Pharamond could tell you what has become of her.'
'I have inquired. She has not returned to the island; her grandfather never speaks of her, and no one knows anything at all about her.'
'Ah! you have inquired already? I thought she impressed you very much.'
'Not at all,' said Othmar irritably, as he glanced at the sketch on which the sunshine was falling. 'But I was sorry that any caprice of yours should have cost anyone so dear.'
'Is that all? And you are sure she has not married her cousin?'
'They say not. He is still living at St. Tropez.'
'Then she must be shut up in some convent.'
'Oh no, my dear, she had too much life in her to die. Besides, her grandfather would have made her death known. I am sure she will live and have a history, probably such a history as Madame Tallien's or as Madame Favart's. She carries it in her countenance.'
'Five fathoms of blue water were perhaps the better fate,' said Othmar.