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"Women often fancy men to be young in ways in which they are not
young," said Artois. "Panacci is very much of a man, I can assure
you."
"Panacci! I never heard you call him that before."
Her eager brown eyes went to his face curiously for a moment. Artois
saw that, and said, rather hastily:
"It's true that nearly every one calls him Doro."
Once more they heard the chattering voices, and then a sound of
laughter in the darkness. It made Hermione smile, but Artois moved
uneasily. Just then there came to them from the sea, like a blow, a
sudden puff of wind. It hit their faces.
"Do you want to avoid the storm?" Artois said.
"Yes. Do you think--"
"I am sure you can only avoid it by going at once. Look!"
He pointed towards the sea. The blackness before them was cut at some
distance off by a long, level line of white.
"What's that?" asked Hermione, peering out.
"Foam."
"Foam! But surely it can't be!"
The wind struck them again. It was like a hot, almost like a sweating
hand, coarse and violent, and repugnant.


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