they called her, didn't last a week. She died begging her husband to
burn that accursed boat. Oh, he did it! As for him, he became I don't
know what; he staggered about like a man who can't carry his wine.
Then he went away and was gone ten days, and after he returned he put
himself where you saw him, and since he has been there he has never
said one word."

The fisherman related this history rapidly and more simply than I can
write it. The lower classes make few comments as they relate a thing;
they tell the fact that strikes them, and present it as they felt it.
This tale was made as sharply incisive as the blow of an axe.

"I shall not go to Batz," said Pauline, when we came to the upper
shore of the lake.

We returned to Croisic by the salt marshes, through the labyrinth of
which we were guided by our fisherman, now as silent as ourselves. The
inclination of our souls was changed. We were both plunged into gloomy
reflections, saddened by the recital of a drama which explained the
sudden presentiment which had seized us on seeing Cambremer. Each of
us had enough knowledge of life to divine all that our guide had not
told of that triple existence. The anguish of those three beings rose
up before us as if we had seen it in a drama, culminating in that of
the father expiating his crime. We dared not look at the rock where
sat the fatal man who held the whole countryside in awe. A few clouds
dimmed the skies; mists were creeping up from the horizon. We walked
through a landscape more bitterly gloomy than any our eyes had ever
rested on, a nature that seemed sickly, suffering, covered with salty
crust, the eczema, it might be called, of earth. Here, the soil was
mapped out in squares of unequal size and shape, all encased with