had the vessel under perfect control; but the noise and seeming confusion were terrific. To those accustomed to it, the storm was merely a storm, without any formidable features; but to the wretched Quiès, it was the end of the world.

All the elements seemed to him to be mixed up together in a chaos out of which nothing could issue evermore.

Maddened by fear, stumbling, falling, picking himself up, going blindly on, not knowing whither, he reeled against the legs of a sailor, who gave him a push which

sent him reeling against some other legs, and their pro

prietor in his turn pitched

him off, with a rough:
"Mind what you're
about, you fool!"

Quiès was in no condition to display anger; nor, indeed, would he have had time to do so, for the same person who had just treated him with such scant respect, caught him round the body, and held him tightly, exclaiming :

"Why it's Quiès! Our good Quiès!

"The doctor!" cried Henri, who came running up at his friend's explanation. "The doctor! Here!"

'Himself! Look at

him."

"Yes! Yes! But

what a state you are in! What does this extraordinary rig-out mean?"

No answer was to be had from the unfortunate Quiès. The Commandant and Henri took him, one by the shoulders, the other by the feet, and carried him into a first-class cabin.

He was now merely an inanimate bundle.

6

CHAPTER XI.

IN WHICH DR. QUIÈS TAKES AN IRREVOCABLE
DETERMINATION.

FOR eight days, and as many nights, it was impossible to induce Dr. Quiès to leave his bed. He lay with his face to the wall, and his head under the coverlet, without looking round or taking a mouthful of air. During those eight days and nights he asked himself whether he was alive or dead, awake or dreaming, and whether it could really be the sedentary recluse, J. B. Quiès, of SaintPignon les Girouettes, who had travelled so formidable a distance, and accomplished so Homeric a voyage.

When, after the expiration of a week, he perceived that he was in one of the best rooms of the best hotel in Algiers, that his three meals a day were served regularly, and that no more or less familiar demon dragged him off through space; when, on approaching the window one glance showed him the marvellous Algerian sky, the luminous blue sea, the landscape worthy of the "Arabian Nights,” he was surprised to find that confidence in the future was returning to him, and that he was almost forgetting, not his tribulations, but the happiest hours of his past. He sought to recall them with tears of tender regret, and from the bottom of his heart he bade them an eternal farewell.

One morning Commandant La Carriole and Henri came into his room and, after the usual greeting, said to him: "What do you intend to do?"

Quiès looked at them with the alarmed expression of a

man who has been asked whether he has ever breakfasted in the moon, or taken a trip to the planet Jupiter.

"What do I intend to do?" he repeated, blinking his

eyes and stretching himself out in his easy chair, "What do I intend to do? Why, exactly what I am doing. To rest! Nothing more."

"You know, my dear friend, that M. de Malleville is no longer in Algiers. We have just left the engineer's office

"Yes," continued Henri, "we have just learned that my father is, or ought to be at Boghar. He has got the concession of the public works, which are to be executed by order of the Governor-General."

"Ah, indeed!" said Quiès, "that's well! You will congratulate him for me."

"You will not come with us?" "I!?"

It would need at least three notes of admiration to convey the introduction of that "I!?" followed by a short laugh, which fully expressed a firmly taken resolution.

"As you please, my good friend," said La Carriole, "as you please. Wait for us here; we will come back for you in a month's time, and then we can all return to SaintPignon les Girouettes."

"Saint-Pignon les Girouettes!

Never!

cried Quiès,