ed
and regretted.

He got up and walked on to the end of the pier. He felt better, and
glad to have understood, to have detected himself, to have unmasked
_the other_ which lurks in us.

"Then I was jealous of Jean," thought he. "That is really vilely mean.
And I am sure of it now, for the first idea which came into my head
was that he would marry Madame Rosemilly. And yet I am not in love
myself with that priggish little goose, who is just the woman to
disgust a man with good sense and good conduct. So it is the most
gratuitous jealousy, the very essence of jealousy, which is merely
because it is! I must keep an eye on that!"

By this time he was in front of the flagstaff, whence the depth of
water in the harbor is signaled, and he struck a match to read the
list of vessels signaled in the roadstead and coming in with the next
high tide. Ships were due from Brazil, from La Plata, from Chili and
Japan, two Danish brigs, a Norwegian schooner, and a Turkish
steamship--which startled Pierre as much as if it had read a Swiss
steamship; and in a whimsical vision he pictured a great vessel
crowded with men in turbans climbing the shrouds in loose trousers.

"How absurd," thought he. "But the Turks are a maritime people, too."

A few steps further on he stopped again, looking out at the roads. On
the right, above Sainte-Adresse, the two electric lights of Cape la
Heve, like monstrous twin Cyclops, shot their long and powerful beams
across the sea. Starting from two neighboring centers, the two
parallel shafts of light, like the colossal tails of two comets, fell
in a straight and endless slope from the top of the cliff to the
uttermost horizon. Then, on the two piers, two more lights, the
children of these giants, marked the entrance to the harbor; and far
away on the other side of the Seine others were in sight, many others,
steady or winking, flashing or revolving, opening and shutting like
eyes--the eyes of the ports--yellow, red, and green, watching the
night-wrapped sea covered with ships; the living eyes of the
hospitable shore saying, merely by the mechanical and regular movement
of their eyelids: "I am here. I am Trouville; I am Honfleur; I am the
Audemer River." And high above all the rest, so high that from this
distance it might be taken for a planet, the airy light-house of
Etouville showed the way to Rouen across the sand banks at the mouth
of the great river.

Out on the deep water, the limitless water, d