’ Mademoiselle, who had been nodding in agreement at Roding during the first part of this speech, abruptly turned to face Gerald again. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk.
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