A Fisher Girl of France

At daybreak of the twenty-first day the boat was still fishing. Like the herring, she had moved southward insensibly, but without leaving the neighborhood of Scotland. At every hour of the day Elise searched the horizon for the corvette and Firmin, but saw no trace of them.

Always bad luck. In twenty days they had not only not seen the corvette, but not even a coaster from some English port. They were so near one another, they wished for one another so much, and yet could not meet.