ir of heaven does. Tremoulin, who was standing in the bows with his
body bent forward, and holding the sharp-pointed trident in his hand,
was on the look-out with the ardent gaze of a beast of prey watching for
its spoil, and, suddenly, with a swift movement, he darted his forked
weapon into the sea so vigorously that it secured a large fish swimming
near the bottom. It was a conger eel, which managed to wriggle, half
dead as it was, into a puddle of the brackish water.

Tremoulin again threw his spear, and when he pulled it up, I saw a great
lump of red flesh which palpitated, moved, rolled and unrolled, long,
strong, soft feelers round the handle of the trident. It was an octopus,
and Tremoulin opened his knife, and with a swift movement plunged it
between the eyes, and killed it. And so our fishing continued until the
wood began to run short. When there was not enough left to keep up the
fire, Tremoulin dipped the braziers into the sea, and we were again
buried in darkness.

The old sailor began to row again, slowly and regularly, though I could
not tell where the land or where the port was. By-and-bye, however, I
saw lights. We were nearing the harbor.

"Are you sleepy?" my friend said to me.

"Not the slightest."

"Then we will go and have a chat on the roof."

"I shall be delighted."

Just as we got onto the terrace, I saw the crescent moon rising behind
the mountains, and around us, the white houses, with their flat roofs,
descending down towards the sea, while human forms were standing or
lying on them, sleeping or dreaming under the stars; whole families
wrapped in long gowns, and resting in the calm night, after the heat of
the day.

It suddenly seemed to me as if the Eastern mind were taking possession
of me, the poetical and legendary spirit of a people with simply and
flowery thoughts. My head was full of the Bible and of _The Arabian
Nights_; I could hear the prophets proclaiming miracles, and I could see
princesses wearing silk drawers on the roofs of the palaces, while
delicate perfumes, whose smoke assumed the forms of genii, were burning
on silver dishes, and I said to Tremoulin:

"You are very fortunate in living here."

"I came here quite by accident," he replied.

"By accident?"

"Yes, accident and unhappiness brought me here."

"You have been unhappy?"

"Very unhappy."

He was standing in front of me, wrapped in his bournoose, and his voice
had such a painful ring in it that it