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Updated: June 1, 2025
Travers spoke in a voice which astonished d'Alcacer as much as the smile, a voice that was not irritable nor peevish, but had a distinct note of indulgence. "My dear d'Alcacer, that craze has got such a hold of her that she would tell you any sort of tale. Social impostors, mediums, fortune-tellers, charlatans of all sorts do obtain a strange influence over women.
"It seems as though a boat had come alongside," observed d'Alcacer, lending an attentive ear. "I wonder what it means. In our position. . . ." "It may mean anything," interrupted Mrs. Travers. "Jaffir is here," said a voice in the darkness of the after end of the ship. Then there were some more words in which d'Alcacer's attentive ear caught the word "surat."
These strange words struck d'Alcacer as perfectly just, as throwing an unexpected light. But after a smile, he said, seriously: "This reality may go too far. A man who looks so picturesque is capable of anything.
"I mistrust him," she said. "You do!" exclaimed d'Alcacer, very low. "I mean that Jorgenson. He seems a merciless sort of creature." "He is indifferent to everything," said d'Alcacer. "It may be a mask." "Have you some evidence, Mrs. Travers?" "No," said Mrs. Travers without hesitation. "I have my instinct."
Travers astonished him by saying in a strangely provoking tone: "You were right. I have come back." Then with a little laugh which impressed d'Alcacer painfully she added with a nod downward, "and Martin, too, was perfectly right. It was absolutely unimportant."
But I suppose with a mask such as you can make for yourself you really don't care. The Man of Fate, I noticed, is not nearly as good at it as you are." "What a pretentious name. Do you call him by it to his face, Mr. d'Alcacer?" "No, I haven't the cheek," confessed d'Alcacer, equably. "And, besides, it's too momentous for daily use.
D'Alcacer did not examine his heart, but some lines of a French poet came into his mind, to the effect that in all times those who fought with an unjust heaven had possessed the secret admiration and love of men. He didn't go so far as love but he could not deny to himself that his feeling toward Lingard was secretly friendly and well, appreciative. Mr. Travers sat up suddenly.
Didn't he see the horror of it?" "I don't know. He walked away," said Mrs. Travers. She looked immovably at her hands clasped in her lap, and then with a burst of distress, "Mr. d'Alcacer, what is going to happen?" "Ah, you are asking yourself the question at last. That will happen which cannot be avoided; and perhaps you know best what it is." "No. I am still asking myself what he will do."
He stared at nothing, and on approaching him d'Alcacer disregarded the slight sinking of his own heart at this aspect which seemed to be that of extreme terror. "This is awful," he thought. The man kept as still as a hare in its form. The impressed d'Alcacer had to make an effort to bring himself to tap him lightly on the shoulder.
This was as far as he would go, for he knew very well that she was not in the deckhouse. Mr. Travers, completely convinced by the statement, made no sound. But neither did he lie down again. D'Alcacer gave himself up to meditation. The night seemed extremely oppressive. At Lingard's shout for Jorgenson, that in the profound silence struck his ears ominously, he raised his eyes and saw Mrs.
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