he laborer after his day's
work.

"We're off!" said Gavrilo, dipping his oars.

"Let us pull!"

Tchelkache, with a strong stroke of the oar, drove the boat into an
open space between two fishing-boats; he pulled rapidly over the
shining water, which glowed, at the contact of the oars, with a blue
phosphorescent fire. A long trail of softly scintillating light
followed the boat windingly.

"Well! does your head ache very much?" asked Tchelkache, kindly.

"Horribly! It rings like a clock . . . I'm going to wet it with a
little water."

"What good will that do? Wet it rather inside; you'll come to quicker."

Tchelkache handed the bottle to Gavrilo.

"Do you think so? With the blessing of God! . . ." A soft gurgle was
heard.

"Eh! you're not sorry to have the chance? Enough!" cried Tchelkache,
stopping him.

The boat shot on again, noiselessly; it moved easily between the
ships. . . . All at once it cleared itself from the other craft, and
the immense shining sea lay before them. It disappeared in the blue
distance, where from its waters rose lilac-gray clouds to the sky;
these were edged with down, now yellow, again green as the sea, or
again slate-colored, casting those gloomy shadows that oppress soul and
mind. The clouds slowly crept over one another, sometimes melting in
one, sometimes dispersing each other; they mingled their forms and
colors, dissolving or reappearing with new contours, majestic and
mournful. This slow moving of inanimate masses had something fatal
about it. It seemed as though yonder at the confines of the sea, there
was an innumerable quantity of them always crawling indifferently over
the sky, with the wicked and stupid intention of never allowing it to
illumine the sleeping sea with the million golden eyes of its
many-colored stars, which awaken the noble desires of beings in
adoration before their holy and pure light.

"Isn't the sea beautiful?" asked Tchelkache.

"Not bad! Only one is afraid on it," replied Gavrilo, rowing evenly
and strongly. The sea could scarcely be heard; it dripped from the
long oars and still shone with its warm, blue phosphorescent lights.

"Afraid? Simpleton!" growled Tchelkache.

He, the cynical robber, loved the sea. His ardent temperament, greedy
for impressions, never tired of contemplating its infinite, free and
powerful immensity. It offended him to receive such a reply to his
question concerning the beauty of the sea that he lov