“Great goose! what ails you?  I knew it well from the very first day!”

Savel began to tremble.  He stammered out:  “You knew it?  Then—­”

He stopped.

She asked: 

“Then?...  What?”

He answered: 

“Then ... what would you think?... what ... what....  What would you have answered?”

She broke forth into a peal of laughter, which made the sugar juice run off the tips of her fingers on to the carpet.

“I?  But you did not ask me anything.  It was not for me to make a declaration.”

He then advanced a step towards her.

“Tell me ... tell me....  You remember the day when Saudres went to sleep on the grass after lunch ... when we had walked together as far as the bend of the river, below ...”

He waited, expectantly.  She had ceased to laugh, and looked at him, straight in the eyes.

“Yes, certainly, I remember it.”

He answered, shivering all over.

“Well ... that day ... if I had been ... if I had been ... enterprising ... what would you have done?”

She began to laugh as only a happy woman can laugh, who has nothing to regret, and responded, frankly, in a voice tinged with irony: 

“I would have yielded, my friend.”

She then turned on her heels and went back to her jam-making.

Savel rushed into the street, cast down, as though he had encountered some great disaster.  He walked with giant strides, through the rain, straight on, until he reached the river, without thinking where he was going.  When he reached the bank he turned to the right and followed it.  He walked a long time, as if urged on by some instinct.  His clothes were running with water, his hat was bashed in, as soft as a piece of rag, and dripping like a thatched roof.  He walked on, straight in front of him.  At last, he came to the place where they had lunched so long, long ago, the recollection of which had tortured his heart.  He sat down under the leafless trees, and he wept.

THE PORT

PART I

Having sailed from Havre on the 3rd of May, 1882, for a voyage in the China seas, the square-rigged three-master, Notre Dame des Vents, made her way back into the port of Marseilles, on the 8th of August, 1886, after an absence of four years.  When she had discharged her first cargo in the Chinese port for which she was bound, she had immediately found a new freight for Buenos Ayres, and from that place had conveyed goods to Brazil.

Other passages, then damage repairs, calms ranging over several months, gales which knocked her out of her course—­all the accidents, adventures, and misadventures of the sea, in short—­had kept far from her country, this Norman three-master, which had come back to Marseilles with her hold full of tin boxes containing American preserves.