The Crystal City Under the Sea Read Free Page A

did anybody ever hear of such a curious piece of luck? To fall into the sea, in a furious storm, to the depth of a thousand feet, and then to find himself comfortable and calm in the roadstead at Lorient, two days before his comrades The scamp! No one but René Caoudal could have met with such adventures. How they longed to see him! Doctor Patrice lost no time in finding him, anc hearing his account of himself. Ten minutes after landing, he entered the room where the midshipman was lying. The first greetings over, he examined the young man carefully, feeling all over him, applying the stethoscope, and interrogating him, to make sure that there was no injury. His examination over, the doctor felt puzzled, for, physically, he was sound enough, and there did not appear to be any reason for his keeping his bed. And yet he could not conceal from himself a singular change in the mental condition of the young sailor. Sad, preoccupied, with pale face, and distrait expression, he evidently found difficulty in fixing his attention, and responded with reluctance to the eager questions of his friend. Truth to say, he appeared annoyed by them.
    “What is the matter with you?” said Patrice, anxiously. “ You do not seem to be any the worse for your immersion. I must say, I cannot understand why you lie here like a log. Come, make an effort! Take a turn out-of-doors; that will put you to rights in a twinkling.”
    “ Oh! a walk in Lorient!” said he, in a contemptuous tone.
    “Lorient is not to be despised!” cried the doctor. “In any case, it would be better than lying here in the dumps, for you are in the dumps; that is evident. Come, what have you got on your mind?”
    The only reply was a discouraged shrug of the shoulders.
    “Do you feel ill?”
    “Ill? No; not precisely ill.”
    “Then what do you feel like? Have you any muscular pain, or any sprain? How long were you in the water?”
    Again René shrugged his shoulders. “How do I know? Besides, what does it matter?” muttered he, impatiently.
    And turning towards the wall, he hid his face with his arm, as if to insinuate that the conversation was burdensome. The doctor looked at him with surprise, which rapidly changed to uneasiness. What ailed him? Such a frank and lively fellow, with such an open nature, and so transparent! Had his head struck against a reef at the bottom of the sea? Must he attribute this dumbness, this unusual sullen-ness, to some injury of the brain?
    “How is it; don’t you know?” he asked, determined to make him speak. “You must be able to remember what happened when you came to the surface. You were not long under the water, perhaps. How many minutes, should you judge?” A deep sigh was the sole response. “Perhaps you lost consciousness?” René was silent.
    “You were found lashed to an empty barrel, if I am rightly informed,” said Patrice. “Was it long before you got hold of it? And the rope,—where , did you get it from?”
    Another shrug of the shoulders, and impatient turn of the head, as if to shake off importunate noise. It seemed as if the voice of his friend grated on his nerves like a saw scraping marble. For some minutes, the doctor pressed questions on him without getting any answer.
    “My dear friend,” said he, at last, vexed in his turn by this behaviour, “your cold bath appears to me to have had a most unfortunate effect upon your temper. You are not ill, but you are very sulky. If I bore you, say so. I will go away. It is very simple.”
    He turned towards the door. At this, René appeared to make an effort to rouse himself from his dejection.
    “Patrice! Stephen!” called he, “Don’t be angry. Come back. You know I am glad to see you. You have no need that I should throw myself into your arms to prove that, I think.”
    “Confound it! There is a slight difference between throwing your arms around my neck, and giving me such a reception as this, you must own.” Rene sighed afresh, shaking his head in