They had a long conversation on the terrace commanding an extended
view of the town and the harbour.

The splendid immobility of the bay resting under his gaze, with its
grey spurs and shining indentations, helped Renouard to regain his
self-possession, which he had felt shaken, in coming out on the
terrace, into the setting of the most powerful emotion of his life,
when he had sat within a foot of Miss Moorsom with fire in his
breast, a humming in his ears, and in a complete disorder of his
mind. There was the very garden seat on which he had been
enveloped in the radiant spell. And presently he was sitting on it
again with the professor talking of her. Near by the patriarchal
Dunster leaned forward in a wicker arm-chair, benign and a little
deaf, his big hand to his ear with the innocent eagerness of his
advanced age remembering the fires of life.

It was with a sort of apprehension that Renouard looked forward to
seeing Miss Moorsom. And strangely enough it resembled the state
of mind of a man who fears disenchantment more than sortilege. But
he need not have been afraid. Directly he saw her in a distance at
the other end of the terrace he shuddered to the roots of his hair.
With her approach the power of speech left him for a time. Mrs.
Dunster and her aunt were accompanying her. All these people sat
down; it was an intimate circle into which Renouard felt himself
cordially admitted; and the talk was of the great search which
occupied all their minds. Discretion was expected by these people,
but of reticence as to the object of the journey there could be no
question. Nothing but ways and means and arrangements could be
talked about.