e we do not sell it at auction."

And everyone laughed, except the two Javels.

The wind was still boisterous. They tacked within sight of Boulogne until
the following morning at ten o'clock. Young Javel continued to bathe his
wound. From time to time he rose and walked from one end to the other of
the boat.

His brother, who was at the tiller, followed him with glances, and shook
his head.

At last they ran into harbor.

The doctor examined the wound and pronounced it to be in good condition.
He dressed it properly and ordered the patient to rest. But Javel would
not go to bed until he got back his severed arm, and he returned at once
to the dock to look for the barrel which he had marked with a cross.

It was emptied before him and he seized the arm, which was well preserved
in the pickle, had shrunk and was freshened. He wrapped it up in a towel
he had brought for the purpose and took it home.

His wife and children looked for a long time at this fragment of their
father, feeling the fingers, and removing the grains of salt that were
under the nails. Then they sent for a carpenter to make a little coffin.

The next day the entire crew of the trawling smack followed the funeral
of the detached arm. The two brothers, side by side, led the procession;
the parish beadle carried the corpse under his arm.

Javel, junior, gave up the sea. He obtained a small position on the dock,
and when he subsequently talked about his accident, he would say
confidentially to his auditors:

"If my brother had been willing to cut away the net, I should still have
my arm, that is sure. But he was thinking only of his property."

MINUET

Great misfortunes do not affect me very much, said John Bridelle, an old
bachelor who passed for a sceptic. I have seen war at quite close
quarters; I walked across corpses without any feeling of pity. The great
brutal facts of nature, or of humanity, may call forth cries of horror or
indignation, but do not cause us that tightening of the heart, that
shudder that goes down your spine at sight of certain little heartrending
episodes.

The greatest sorrow that anyone can experience is certainly the loss of a
child, to a mother; and the loss of his mother, to a man. It is intense,
terrible, it rends your heart and upsets your mind; but one is healed of
these shocks, just as large bleeding wounds become healed. Certain
meetings, certain things half perceived, or surmised, certain secret
so