Little by little, however, the blackness became less
intense. All at once I thought I noticed a shadow
gliding past, quite near me. I shouted, a voice
replied; it was a fisherman. I called him; he
came near and I told him of my ill-luck. He rowed
his boat alongside of mine and, together, we pulled
at the anchor chain. The anchor did not move.
Day came, gloomy gray, rainy and cold, one of those
days that bring one sorrows and misfortunes.
I saw another boat. We hailed it. The man
on board of her joined his efforts to ours, and gradually
the anchor yielded. It rose, but slowly, slowly,
loaded down by a considerable weight. At length
we perceived a black mass and we drew it on board.
It was the corpse of an old women with a big stone
round her neck.
THE CRIPPLE
The following adventure happened to me about 1882.
I had just taken the train and settled down in a corner,
hoping that I should be left alone, when the door
suddenly opened again and I heard a voice say:
“Take care, monsieur, we are just at a crossing;
the step is very high.”
Another voice answered: “That’s all
right, Laurent, I have a firm hold on the handle.”
Then a head appeared, and two hands seized the leather
straps hanging on either side of the door and slowly
pulled up an enormous body, whose feet striking on
the step, sounded like two canes. When the man
had hoisted his torso into the compartment I noticed,
at the loose edge of his trousers, the end of a wooden
leg, which was soon followed by its mate. A head
appeared behind this traveller and asked; “Are
you all right, monsieur?”
“Yes, my boy.”
“Then here are your packages and crutches.”
And a servant, who looked like an old soldier, climbed
in, carrying in his arms a stack of bundles wrapped
in black and yellow papers and carefully tied; he
placed one after the other in the net over his master’s
head. Then he said: “There, monsieur,
that is all. There are five of them—the
candy, the doll the drum, the gun, and the pate de
foies gras.”
“Very well, my boy.”
“Thank you, Laurent; good health!”
The man closed the door and walked away, and I looked
at my neighbor. He was about thirty-five, although
his hair was almost white; he wore the ribbon of the
Legion of Honor; he had a heavy mustache and was quite
stout, with the stoutness of a strong and active man
who is kept motionless on account of some infirmity.
He wiped his brow, sighed, and, looking me full in
the face, he asked: “Does smoking annoy
you, monsieur?”
