h him in the pocket of his pea-jacket; a
charming portrait in which she was smiling, and showing her white teeth
between her half-open lips, and while her gentle eyes, with their
magnetic look, had a happy, frank expression, and in which, from the
mere reflection of her hair, one could see that she was fair among the
fair.

And he used to kiss that portrait of the woman who had been his wife as
if he wished to efface it, and would look at it for hours, and then
throw himself down on the netting, and sob like a child as he looked at
the infinite expanse before him, and seemed to see in their lost
happiness the joys of their perished affections, and the divine
remembrance of their love in the monotonous waste of green waters. And
he tried to accuse himself for all that had occurred, and not to be
angry with her, to think that his grievances were imaginary, and to
adore her in spite of everything and always.

And that he roamed about the world, tossed to and fro, suffering, and
hoping, he knew not what. He ventured into the greatest dangers, and
sought for death just as a man seeks for his mistress, and death passed
close to him without touching him, and was perhaps amused at his grief
and misery.

For he was as wretched as a stone-breaker, as one of those poor devils
who work and nearly break their backs over the hard flints the whole day
long, under the scorching sun or the cold rain, and Marie-Anne herself
was not happy, for she was pining for the past, and remembered their
former love.

At last, however, he returned to France, changed, tamed by exposure,
sun, and rain, and transformed as if by some witch's filter.

Nobody would have recognized the elegant and effeminate clubman in this
species of corsair, with broad shoulders, a skin the color of blister,
with very red lips, and who rolled a little in his walk; who seemed to
be stifled in his black dress-coat, but who still retained his
distinguished manners, the bearing of a nobleman of the last century,
who, when he was ruined, fitted out a privateer, and fell upon the
English wherever he met them, from St. Malo to Calcutta. And wherever he
showed himself his friends exclaimed:

"Why! Is that you? I should never have known you again!"

He was very nearly starting off again immediately. He even telegraphed
orders to Havre to get the steam-yacht ready for sea again directly,
when he heard that Marie-Anne had married again.

He saw her in the distance, at the