him. He tapped the dottle out of his pipe, then he took a pouch from his
pocket and began to refill and the girl, seeing his condition, drew him
aside, asking Raft to wait for her.

They went to another bollard and there, the mariner anchoring himself,
she began to talk. She introduced herself. He knew all about the _Gaston
de Paris_ and Mademoiselle de Bromsart. He put his pipe in his pocket,
finding himself in such famous company. She went on. In ten minutes she
told him her whole story, told him just what Raft was and just how they
stood related, and just how he had been treated in the hotel.

"It's as though they had turned out my father or my brother," said she,
"we two who have fought and faced everything together have grown into
companions. Friends who cannot be parted, Captain Bontemps. If he were a
woman or I a man it would be easier. As it is things are difficult.
Well, I do not care. I will do exactly as I like. I feel you will be my
friend, too; you understand me. And I want you to look after him
to-night, for in the whole of Marseilles I do not know where he could go
unless to some wretched Sailors' Home or worse. Ah, it is wicked. Of
what use is it to be brave, to be honest, to be true in this world?"

"Mon Dieu," said the Captain, "I will look after him, if for no other
reason than that he is what you say, mademoiselle; but _La Belle
Arlesienne_ is rough, should you use her as a yacht, you would not find
her a yacht. She smells of fish--"

"I am used to rough things," said the girl. "I dread the smooth. Captain
Bontemps, for one who has done for me everything should I dread
anything? And a little roughness, what is that to freedom and the life I
have learned to love with the man I love? For I love Raft, Captain
Bontemps, just as I know he loves me. Oh, do not mistake me, it is not
the sort of thing they call love here amongst houses and streets, it is
not a woman that is speaking to you but a human being."

He understood her. To his broad and simple mind the thing was simple;
she did not want to part with the man who had saved her and fought for
her and who had been "chucked out" of a hotel because he was a rough
sailor, and marvellously well he understood that when she said she loved
Raft she did not mean the thing that the dock side called Love. No Paris
poet could have understood her. The old fisher captain did.

But he was a practical man. He struck himself a blow on the head.

"I have what yo