He left the invalid in Breton's care and sought the deck for a breath of air, cold and damp though it was.

Glancing up, he saw Brother Jacques pacing the poop-deck, his hands clasped behind him, his head bent forward, absorbed in thought.

Victor wondered about this priest.

A mystery enveloped his beauty, his uncommunicativeness.
Presently the Jesuit caught sight of the dim, half-recognizable face below.
"The Chevalier improves ?" he asked.
"His mind has just cleared itself of the fever's fog, thank God!" cried Victor, heartily.
"He will live, then," replied Brother Jacques, sadly; and continued his pacing.

After a few moments Victor went below again, and the priest mused aloud: "Yes, he will live; misfortune and misery are long-lived." All about him rolled the smooth waters, touched faintly with the first pallor of dawn.
On the sixteenth of April the Chevalier was declared strong enough to be carried up to the deck, where he was laid on a cot, his head propped with pillows in a manner such as to prevent the rise and fall of the ship from disturbing him.