him.

He came in not late for breakfast, and amused all the family by his
fun and good-humor.

His mother, quite delighted, said to him:

"My little Pierre, you have no notion how humorous and clever you can
be when you choose."

And he talked, putting things in a witty way, and making them laugh by
ingenious hits at their friends. Beausire was his butt, and Mme.
Rosemilly a little, but in a very judicious way, not too spiteful. And
he thought as he looked at his brother: "Stand up for her, you muff.
You may be as rich as you please, I can always eclipse you when I take
the trouble."

As they drank their coffee he said to his father:

"Are you going out in the _Pearl_ to-day?"

"No, my boy."

"May I have her with Jean Bart?"

"To be sure, as long as you like."

He bought a good cigar at the first tobacconist's and went down to the
quay with a light step. He glanced up at the sky, which was clear and
luminous, of a pale blue, freshly swept by the sea breeze.

Papagris, the boatman, commonly called Jean Bart, was dozing in the
bottom of the boat, which he was required to have in readiness every
day at noon when they had not been out fishing in the morning.

"You and I together, mate," cried Pierre. He went down the iron ladder
of the quay and leaped into the vessel.

"Which way is the wind?" he asked.

"Due east still, M'sieu Pierre. A fine breeze out at sea."

"Well, then, old man, off we go!"

They hoisted the foresail and weighed anchor; and the boat, feeling
herself free, glided slowly down toward the jetty on the still water
of the harbor. The breath of wind that came down the street caught the
top of the sail so lightly as to be imperceptible, and the _Pearl_
seemed endowed with life--the life of a vessel driven on by a
mysterious latent power. Pierre took the tiller, and, holding his
cigar between his teeth, he stretched his legs on the bunk, and with
his eyes half-shut in the blinding sunshine, he watched the great
tarred timbers of the breakwater as they glided past.

When they reached the open sea, round the nose of the north pier which
had sheltered them, the fresher breeze puffed in the doctor's face and
on his hands, like a somewhat icy caress, filled his chest, which rose
with a long sigh to drink it in, and swelling the tawny sail, tilted
the _Pearl_ on her beam and made her more lively. Jean Bart hastily
hauled up the jib, and the triangle of canvas, full of wind, looked
like a wing;