eep down in their chests, the
very fountain of all vigorous existence. And yet, around them, was
a semblance of non-existence, of a world either finished or not yet
created; the light itself had no warmth; all things seemed without
motion, and as if chilled for eternity under the great ghostly eye that
represented the sun.

The _Marie_ projected over the sea a shadow long and black as night, or
rather appearing deep green in the midst of the polished surface, which
reflected all the purity of the heavens; in this shadowed part, which
had no glitter, could be plainly distinguished through the transparency,
myriads upon myriads of fish, all alike, gliding slowly in the same
direction, as if bent towards the goal of their perpetual travels. They
were cod, performing their evolutions all as parts of a single body,
stretched full length in the same direction, exactly parallel, offering
the effect of gray streaks, unceasingly agitated by a quick motion that
gave a look of fluidity to the mass of dumb lives. Sometimes, with a
sudden quick movement of the tail, all turned round at the same time,
showing the sheen of their silvered sides; and the same movement was
repeated throughout the entire shoal by slow undulations, as if a
thousand metal blades had each thrown a tiny flash of lightning from
under the surface.

The sun, already very low, lowered further; so night had decidedly come.
As the great ball of flame descended into the leaden-coloured zones that
surrounded the sea, it grew yellow, and its outer rim became more clear
and solid. Now it could be looked straight at, as if it were but
the moon. Yet it still gave out light and looked quite near in the
immensity; it seemed that by going in a ship, only so far as the edge of
the horizon, one might collide with the great mournful globe, floating
in the air just a few yards above the water.

Fishing was going on well; looking into the calm water, one could see
exactly what took place; how the cod came to bite, with a greedy
spring; then, feeling themselves hooked, wriggled about, as if to
hook themselves still firmer. And every moment, with rapid action, the
fishermen hauled in their lines, hand overhand, throwing the fish to the
man who was to clean them and flatten them out.

The Paimpol fleet were scattered over the quiet mirror, animating the
desert. Here and there appeared distant sails, unfurled for mere form's
sake, considering there was no breeze. They were like