uld not distinguish my boat, nor even my hands, which I held
up close to my eyes.

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