He pushed onwards along the rugged surface of the rock, but had not proceeded far before he came to a sudden pause. His foot had come in contact with something hard beneath the snow, and, stooping down, he picked up a little block of stony substance, which the first glance revealed to be of a geological character altogether alien to the universal rocks around. It proved to be a fragment of dis-colored marble, on which several letters were inscribed, of which the only part at all decipherable was the syllable “Vil.”
“Vil—Villa!” he cried out, in his excitement dropping the marble, which was broken into atoms by the fall.
What else could this fragment be but the sole surviving remnant of some sumptuous mansion that once had stood on this unrivaled site? Was it not the residue of some edifice that had crowned the luxuriant headland of Antibes, overlooking Nice, and commanding the gorgeous panorama that embraced the Maritime Alps and reached beyond Monaco and Mentone to the Italian height of Bordighera? And did it not give in its sad and too convincing testimony that Antibes itself had been involved in the great destruction? Servadac gazed upon the shattered marble, pensive and disheartened.
Count Timascheff laid his hand kindly on the captain’s shoulder, and said, “My friend, do you not remember the motto of the old Hope family?”
He shook his head mournfully.
“Orbe fracto, spes illoesa,” continued the count—”Though the world be shattered, hope is unimpaired.”
Servadac smiled faintly, and replied that he felt rather compelled to take up the despairing cry of Dante, “All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”
“Nay, not so,” answered the count; “for the present at least, let our maxim be Nil desperandum!”
CHAPTER XVII. A SECOND ENIGMA
Upon re-embarking, the bewildered explorers began to discuss the question whether it would not now be desirable to make their way back to Gourbi Island, which was apparently the only spot in their new world from which they could hope to derive their future sustenance. Captain Servadac tried to console himself with the reflection that Gourbi Island was, after all, a fragment of a French colony, and as such almost like a bit of his dear France; and the plan of returning thither was on the point of being adopted, when Lieutenant Procope remarked that they ought to remember that they had not hitherto made an entire circuit of the new shores of the sea on which they were sailing.
“We have,” he said, “neither investigated the northern shore from the site of Cape Antibes to the strait that brought us to Gibraltar, nor have we followed the southern shore that stretches from the strait to the Gulf of Cabes. It is the old coast, and not the new, that we have been tracing; as yet, we cannot say positively that there is no outlet to the south; as yet, we cannot assert that no oasis of the African desert has escaped the catastrophe. Perhaps, even here in the north, we may find that Italy and Sicily and the larger islands of the Mediterranean may still maintain their existence.”
“I entirely concur with you,” said Count Timascheff. “I quite think we ought to make our survey of the confines of this new basin as complete as possible before we withdraw.”
Servadac, although he acknowledged the justness of these observations, could not help pleading that the explorations might be deferred until after a visit had been paid to Gourbi Island.
“Depend upon it, captain, you are mistaken,” replied the lieutenant;” the right thing to do is to use the Dobryna while she is available.”
“Available! What do you mean?” asked the count, somewhat taken by surprise.
“I mean,” said Procope, “that the farther this Gallia of ours recedes from the sun, the lower the temperature will fall. It is likely enough, I think, that before long the sea will be frozen over, and navigation will be impossible. Already you have learned something of the difficulties of traversing a field of ice, and I am sure, therefore, you will acquiesce in my wish to continue our explorations while the water is still open.”
“No doubt you are right, lieutenant,” said the count. “We will continue our search while we can for some remaining fragment of Europe. Who shall tell whether we may not meet with some more survivors from the catastrophe, to whom it might be in our power to afford assistance, before we go into our winter quarters?”