end."

He murmured:

"There are many other things that I have lost!"

But in his heart, touched with emotion, he felt his old love springing to
life once more, like an awakened wild beast ready to bite him.

The young girl went on chattering, and every now and then some familiar
intonation, some expression of her mother's, a certain style of speaking
and thinking, that resemblance of mind and manner which people acquire by
living together, shook Lormerin from head to foot. All these things
penetrated him, making the reopened wound of his passion bleed anew.

He got away early, and took a turn along the boulevard. But the image of
this young girl pursued him, haunted him, quickened his heart, inflamed
his blood. Apart from the two women, he now saw only one, a young one,
the old one come back out of the past, and he loved her as he had loved
her in bygone years. He loved her with greater ardor, after an interval
of twenty-five years.

He went home to reflect on this strange and terrible thing, and to think
what he should do.

But, as he was passing, with a wax candle in his hand, before the glass,
the large glass in which he had contemplated himself and admired himself
before he started, he saw reflected there an elderly, gray-haired man;
and suddenly he recollected what he had been in olden days, in the days
of little Lise. He saw himself charming and handsome, as he had been when
he was loved! Then, drawing the light nearer, he looked at himself more
closely, as one inspects a strange thing with a magnifying glass, tracing
the wrinkles, discovering those frightful ravages, which he had not
perceived till now.

And he sat down, crushed at the sight of himself, at the sight of his
lamentable image, murmuring:

"All over, Lormerin!"

THE PARROT

I

Everybody in Fecamp knew Mother Patin's story. She had certainly been
unfortunate with her husband, for in his lifetime he used to beat her,
just as wheat is threshed in the barn.

He was master of a fishing bark and had married her, formerly, because
she was pretty, although poor.

Patin was a good sailor, but brutal. He used to frequent Father Auban's
inn, where he would usually drink four or five glasses of brandy, on
lucky days eight or ten glasses and even more, according to his mood. The
brandy was served to the customers by Father Auban's daughter, a pleasing
brunette, who attracted people to the house only by her pretty face, for
nothing had eve