ent frame of mind. While he was dressing he appraised, weighed, and summed up the agitations of the past day, trying to

notions, without a shadow of foundation, about every honest woman? Do they not, whenever they speak, vilify, calumniate, and abuse all whom they believe to be blameless? Whenever a woman who is above imputation is mentioned in their presence, the

ted to the tavern barmaid an odious intention of which she was innocent. It was possible that his imagination had, unaided, invented this dreadful doubt-his imagination, which he never controlled, which constantly evaded his will and went off, unfettered, audacious, adventurous, and stealthy, into the infinite world of ideas, bringing back now and then some which were shameless and repulsive, and which it

have done this if she had had the faintest suspicion. Now he doubted no longer; his involuntary displeasure at his brother's windfall of fortune and his religious affection for his mother had magnified his scruples-very pious and respectable scruples, but exaggerated. As he put t

fast, and amused all the fami

uite delighte

notion how humorous and cleve

butt, and Mme. Rosemilly a little, but in a very judicious way, not too spiteful. And he thought as he looked at his br

eir coffee he sa

g out in the

my

e her with

, as long a

the quay with a light step. He glanced up at the sky, which was c

e bottom of the boat, which he was required to have in readiness e

erre. He went down the iron ladder o

is the wind

sieu Pierre. A fine

, old man,

ts caught the top of the sail so lightly as to be imperceptible, and the Pearl seemed endowed with life-the life of a vessel driven on by a mysterious latent power. Pierre took the tiller, and, hol

aress, filled his chest, which rose with a long sigh to drink it in, and swelling the tawny sail, tilted the Pearl on her beam and made her more lively. Jean Bart hastily hauled

foam, as the ploughed soil, heavy and brown, rolls and falls in a ridge. At each wave they met-and there was a short, chopping sea-the Pearl shivered from the point of the bowsprit to the rudder, which trembled under Pierre's hand; when the wind blew harder in gusts, the swell rose to th

ng waters, guiding the thing of wood and canvas, which came and went at his will,

h should be brilliant, and the joys of living intelligently. On the morrow he would ask his brother to lend him f

"The fog is coming up, M's

rapping her in its intangible density, a cold shudder ran over Pierre's limbs, and a smell of smoke and mould, the peculiar smell of a sea-fog, made him close his mouth that he might not taste the cold, wet vapour. By the time the boat was at her usual moorings in the harbour the whole town was buried in this fine mist, wh

s. You will see. I will undertake to care for them and renew th

re you talking about

an entresol looking out on two streets. There are two drawing-rooms, a glass passag

His anger seemed t

s it?" h

ard Fra

ch a state of exasperation that he longed to exclaim: "Thi

wo hundred francs on taking for three, six, or nine years. Your brother will be delightfully housed there. An elegant home is enough to make the fortune of a lawye

or a few seconds

s pretentious, since you have nothing, but nice and pretty

lied conte

make my way by hard

I assure you that to be well lodged

hrough the meal

t come to know th

ked up and rac

other who made the acquaintance with him in the shop, was it not, Louise? He first came to order s

ing his fork into them one by one a

that you made h

e could remember no more and app

who remember everything. Let me see-it was in-in-in fifty-five

ome minutes, and then replied in a

I am not mistaken, for it was in that year that the child had scarlet fever, and

d exc

e shop, he would go to the chemist's to fetch your medicine. He really had the kindest heart! And when you were well a

e he knew me first, since he was so devoted to me, since he was so fond of me and petted me so much, since I-I wa

inded rather than thoughtful, feeling in his soul a new

d on the earth. It could be seen swirling past the gas-lights, which it seemed to put out at intervals. The pavement was as slippery as on a frosty night after rain, and all sor

Marowsko's. The druggist was asleep as usual under the gas-light, which kept watch. On recognising Pierre for whom he h

ctor, "how is the l

sale, and that two papers, the Northcoast Pharos and the Havre Semaphore, would adv

same subject. His jealous devotion to Pierre rebelled against this preference. And Pierre felt as though he could hear him thinking; he guessed and understood, read in his

"You ought not to have suffered him to accept this inher

hen the thing must seem so possible, so probable, self-evident? Why, he himself, Pierre, her son-had not he been for these

r weakness, this possible but monstrous thing-came upon him anew, and so imperative that he rose without even drink

made this Marechal leave

h he knew lurked within him, and with which he had been struggling these three days, but the dread of an

raved for light, for certainty-he must win absolute security in his heart, for he loved no one in the world but his mother. And as he wandered alone through the darkness he would rack his

new Jean from his birth? Yes, but he had known me first. If he had loved my mother silently, unselfishly, he would surely have chosen me, since it was through me, through my scarlet fever, that he became so intimate

econstitute from memory the image of this Marechal, to see him, to know him, to penetrate th

d sit on the jetty as he had done that other night. As he approached the harbour he heard, out at sea, a lugubrious and sinister wail like the bellowing of a bull, but more long-drawn and steady. It was the roar of a fog-horn, the cry of a ship lost in the fog. A shiver ran through him, chilling his heart; so deeply did this cry of distress thrill hi

, now blurred by the fog, which make the harbour accessible at night, and the red glare of the light on the south pier, w

eyebrows, also white. He was neither tall nor short, his manner was pleasant, his eyes gray and soft, his movements gentle, his whole appearance that of a good fellow, simple and kindly. He called Pierre and Jean "my dear children," and had never seemed to prefer either, asking them both together to

doubt-of saying "Monsieur Pierre" and "Monsieur Jean." Marechal would hold out both hands,

say. "Have you any news of your paren

an's mind, but much that was winning, charming, and gracious. He had certainly been a good fri

er repaid. Then this man must always have been fond of him, always have taken an interest in him, since he thought of his needs. Well then-well then-why leave his whole fortune to Jean? No, he had never shown more marked affection for the younger than fo

have made such a difference between them. And an agonizing pang of unspeakable anguish piercing his bosom made his heart beat li

aks in a nightmare, he muttered: "

or brown, or black hair. But he could not; the later image, his face as an old man, blotted out all others. However, he remembered that he had been slighter, and had a soft hand, and that he often brou

kind friend," flashed on his brain, so clearly that he could have believed he heard her. She m

a man of education and fairly refined tastes. How many a time had he discussed poets and poetry with Pierre. He did not appreciate these writers from an artistic point of view, but with sympathetic and responsive feeling. The doctor had often sm

erhaps observed its pretty mistress. He had bought something, had come again, had chatted, more intimately each time, paying

what next-good

enetrable; and when his grave was closed, his flesh dust, his name erased from the list of the living, when he himself was qui

almost infallibly must, give grounds for the supposition that the child was his. He

ortrait he had seen formerly in Paris, on the drawing-room chimney-shelf, and which had since disappeared. Where was it? Lost, or hidden away?

he fog-horn on the pier bellowed out close to him. Its voice, like that of a fiendish monster, more resonant than thunder-a savage and appalling roar contrived to drown the clamour of the wind and waves-spread through the dar

as silent

oking about him, startled to find him

ever have suspected her? Was not the soul, was not the life of this simple-minded, chaste, and loyal woman clearer than water? Could any one who had seen and known her ever think of her but as

e deceived hi

herself as a suitor and a husband? Why inquire? She had married, as young French girls do marry, the youth with a little fortune proposed to her by their relations. They had settled at once in their shop in the Rue Montmartre; and the young wife, ruling over the desk, inspired by the feeling of a new home, and the subtle and sa

s, applauding actresses for dying of passion on the stage, could live from youth to old age without once feeling her hear

hop, by the side of a vulgar husband who always talked of trade, she had dreamed of moonlight nights, of voyages, of kisses

ecause it concerns his mother? But did she give herself to him? Why yes, since this man had had no other love, since he had re

one. With his arm outstretched, his hand wide open, he wanted to hit, to bruise, to s

omeward. What wa

artled that he nearly fell and shrank back as far as the granite parapet. He sat down half-stunned by the sudden shock.

light of the electric lanterns, a huge black shadow crept up between the piers. Behind h

the voice of the pilot standing

anta L

re f

ta

t po

ple

es of Sorrento or Castellamare. How often had he dreamed of these familiar names as if he knew the scenery. Oh, if he might but go away, now at once, never mi

re till daybreak. He liked the roar of the fog-horns. He pulled him

the other, huge and mysterious. An

ntolerable, Pierre set out towards the town. He was so cold that he went into a sailors' tavern to drink a glass

d piled up the evidence as a charge is drawn up against an innocent person, whom it is always so ea

and by sheer force of will