.

There were no leaves, no climbing plants, in the copse now, only the
rustling of the branches, and that dry, crackling noise that seems to
fill every wood in winter.

They reached the little village and went along the empty, silent
streets, which smelt of fish and of seaweed. The big brown nets were
hanging before the doors, or stretched out on the beach as of old;
towards Fecamp the green rocks at the foot of the cliff could be seen,
for the tide was going out, and all along the beach the big boats lay on
their sides looking like huge fish.

As night drew on, the fishermen, walking heavily in their big sea-boots,
began to come down on the shingle in groups, their necks well wrapped up
with woolen scarfs, and carrying a liter of brandy in one hand, and the
boat-lantern in the other. They busied themselves round the boats,
putting on board, with true Normandy slowness, their nets, their buoys,
a big loaf, a jar of butter, and the bottle of brandy and a glass. Then
they pushed off the boats, which went down the beach with a harsh noise,
then rushed through the surf, balanced themselves on the crest of a wave
for a few seconds, and spread their brown wings and disappeared into the
night, with their little lights shining at the bottom of the masts. The
sailors' wives, their big, bony frames shown off by their thin dresses,
stayed until the last fisherman had gone off, and then went back to the
hushed village, where their noisy voices roused the sleeping echoes of
the gloomy streets.

The baron and Jeanne stood watching these men go off into the darkness,
as they went off every night, risking their lives to keep themselves
from starving, and yet gaining so little that they could never afford to
eat meat.

"What a terrible, beautiful thing is the ocean!" said the baron. "How
many lives are at this very moment in danger on it, and yet how
exquisite it looks now, with the shadows falling over it! Doesn't it,
Jeannette?"

"This is not so pretty as the Mediterranean," she answered with a watery
smile.

"The Mediterranean!" exclaimed the baron scornfully. "Why, the
Mediterranean's nothing but oil or sugared water, while this sea is
terrific with its crests of foam and its wild waves. And think of those
men who have just gone off on it, and who are already out of sight."

Jeanne gave in.

"Yes, perhaps you are right," she said with a sigh, for the word
"Mediterranean" had sent a pang through her heart, and turned her