, whistling and
moaning, tearing the shingles from the roofs, smashing the shutters,
knocking down the chimneys, rushing through the narrow streets in such
gusts that one could walk only by holding on to the walls, and children
would have been lifted up like leaves and carried over the houses into
the fields.

The fishing smacks had been hauled high up on land, because at high tide
the sea would sweep the beach. Several sailors, sheltered behind the
curved bottoms of their boats, were watching this battle of the sky and
the sea.

Then, one by one, they went away, for night was falling on the storm,
wrapping in shadows the raging ocean and all the battling elements.

Just two men remained, their hands plunged deep into their pockets,
bending their backs beneath the squall, their woolen caps pulled down
over their ears; two big Normandy fishermen, bearded, their skin tanned
through exposure, with the piercing black eyes of the sailor who looks
over the horizon like a bird of prey.

One of them was saying:

"Come on, Jeremie, let's go play dominoes. It's my treat."

The other hesitated a while, tempted on one hand by the game and the
thought of brandy, knowing well that, if he went to Paumelle's, he would
return home drunk; held back, on the other hand, by the idea of his wife
remaining alone in the house.

He asked:

"Any one might think that you had made a bet to get me drunk every
night. Say, what good is it doing you, since it's always you that's
treating?"

Nevertheless he was smiling at the idea of all this brandy drunk at the
expense of another. He was smiling the contented smirk of an avaricious
Norman.

Mathurin, his friend, kept pulling him by the sleeve.

"Come on, Jeremie. This isn't the kind of a night to go home without
anything to warm you up. What are you afraid of? Isn't your wife going
to warm your bed for you?"

Jeremie answered:

"The other night I couldn't find the door--I had to be fished out of the
ditch in front of the house!"

He was still laughing at this drunkard's recollection, and he was
unconsciously going toward Paumelle's Cafe, where a light was shining
in the window; he was going, pulled by Mathurin and pushed by the wind,
unable to resist these combined forces.

The low room was full of sailors, smoke and noise. All these men, clad
in woolens, their elbows on the tables, were shouting to make themselves
heard. The more people came in, the more one had to shout in order