ught her in my arms and kissed her cheek, her temple and
her hair.

"The ship did not move again, and we, we also, remained motionless.

"The father said, 'Kate!' The one whom I was holding answered 'Yes' and
made a movement to free herself. And at that moment I should have wished
the ship to split in two and let me fall with her into the sea.

"The Englishman continued:

"'A little rocking; it's nothing. I have my three daughters safe.'

"Not having seen the oldest, he had thought she was lost overboard!

"I rose slowly, and suddenly I made out a light on the sea quite close to
us. I shouted; they answered. It was a boat sent out in search of us by
the hotelkeeper, who had guessed at our imprudence.

"We were saved. I was in despair. They picked us up off our raft and they
brought us back to Saint-Martin.

"The Englishman began to rub his hand and murmur:

"'A good supper! A good supper!'

"We did sup. I was not gay. I regretted the Marie Joseph.

"We had to separate the next day after much handshaking and many promises
to write. They departed for Biarritz. I wanted to follow them.

"I was hard hit. I wanted to ask this little girl to marry me. If we had
passed eight days together, I should have done so! How weak and
incomprehensible a man sometimes is!

"Two years passed without my hearing a word from them. Then I received a
letter from New York. She was married and wrote to tell me. And since
then we write to each other every year, on New Year's Day. She tells me
about her life, talks of her children, her sisters, never of her husband!
Why? Ah! why? And as for me, I only talk of the Marie Joseph. That was
perhaps the only woman I have ever loved--no--that I ever
should have loved. Ah, well! who can tell? Circumstances rule one. And
then--and then--all passes. She must be old now; I should not
know her. Ah! she of the bygone time, she of the wreck! What a creature!
Divine! She writes me her hair is white. That caused me terrible pain.
Ah! her yellow hair. No, my English girl exists no longer. How sad it all
is!"

THEODULE SABOT'S CONFESSION

When Sabot entered the inn at Martinville it was a signal for laughter.
What a rogue he was, this Sabot! There was a man who did not like
priests, for instance! Oh, no, oh, no! He did not spare them, the scamp.

Sabot (Theodule), a master carpenter, represented liberal thought in
Martinville. He was a tall, thin, than, with gray, cunning eyes, and thin
lip