“For ten years nothing was heard from Uncle Jules; but as time went on my father’s hope grew, and my mother, also, often said:
“ ‘When that good Jules is here, our position will be different. There is one who knew how to get along!’
“And every Sunday, while watching the big steamers approaching from the horizon, pouring out a stream of smoke, my father would repeat his eternal question:
“ ‘What a surprise it would be if Jules were on that one! Eh?’
“We almost expected to see him waving his handkerchief and crying:
“ ‘Hey! Philippe!’
“Thousands of schemes had been planned on the strength of this expected return; we were even to buy a little house with my uncle’s money—a little place in the country near Ingouville. In fact, I wouldn’t swear that my father had not already begun negotiations.
“The elder of my sisters was then twenty-eight, the other twenty-six. They were not yet married, and that was a great grief to everyone.
“At last a suitor presented himself for the younger one. He was a clerk, not rich, but honorable. I have always been morally certain that Uncle Jules’ letter, which was shown him one evening, had swept away the young man’s hesitation and definitely decided him.
“He was eagerly accepted, and it was decided that after the wedding the whole family should take a trip to Jersey.
“Jersey is the ideal trip for poor people. It is not far; one crosses a strip of sea in a steamer and lands on foreign soil, as this little island belongs to England. Thus, a Frenchman, in a two hours’ sail, can observe a neighbouring people at home and study their customs.
“This trip to Jersey completely absorbed our ideas, was our sole anticipation, the constant thought of our minds.
“At last we left. I see it as plainly as if it had happened yesterday. The boat was getting up steam against the quay at Granville; my father, bewildered, was superintending the loading of our three pieces of baggage; my mother, nervous, had taken the arm of my unmarried sister, who seemed lost since the departure of the other one, like the last chicken of a brood; behind us came the bride and groom, who always stayed behind, a thing that often made me turn round.
“The whistle sounded. We got on board, and the vessel, leaving the pier, forged ahead through a sea as flat as a marble table. We watched the coast disappear in the distance, happy and proud, like all who do not travel much.
“My father was swelling out his chest in the breeze, beneath his frock coat, which had that morning been very carefully cleaned; and he spread around him that odour of benzine which always made me recognize Sunday. Suddenly he noticed two elegantly dressed ladies to whom two gentlemen were offering oysters. An old, ragged sailor was opening them with his knife and passing them to the gentlemen, who would then offer them to the ladies. They ate them in a dainty manner, holding the shell on a fine handkerchief and advancing their mouths a little in order not to spot their dresses. Then they would drink the liquid with a rapid little motion and throw the shell overboard.
“My father was probably pleased with this delicate manner of eating oysters on a moving ship. He considered it good form, refined, and, going up to my mother and sisters, he asked:
“ ‘Would you like me to offer you some oysters?’
“My mother hesitated on account of the expense, but my two sisters immediately accepted. My mother said in a provoked manner:
“ ‘I am afraid that they will hurt my stomach. Offer the children some, but not too much, it would make them sick.’ Then, turning toward me, she added:
“ ‘As for Joseph, he doesn’t need any. Boys shouldn’t be spoiled.’
“However, I remained beside my mother, finding this discrimination unjust. I watched my father as he pompously conducted my two sisters and his son-in-law toward the ragged old sailor.
“The two ladies had just left, and my father showed my sisters how to eat them without spilling the liquor. He even tried to give them an example, and seized an oyster. He attempted to imitate the ladies, and immediately spilled all the liquid over his coat. I heard my mother mutter:
“ ‘He would do far better to keep quiet.’
“But, suddenly, my father appeared to be worried; he retreated a few steps, stared at his family gathered around the old shell opener, and quickly came toward us. He seemed very pale, with a peculiar look. In a low voice he said to my mother:
“ ‘It’s extraordinary how that man opening the oysters looks like Jules.’
“Astonished, my mother asked:
“ ‘What Jules?’
“My father continued:
“ ‘Why, my brother. If I did not know that he was well off in America, I should think it was he.’
“Bewildered, my mother stammered:
“ ‘You are mad! As long as you know that it is not he, why do you say such foolish things?’
“But my father insisted:
“ ‘Go on over and see, Clarisse! I would rather have you see with your own eyes.’
“She arose and walked to her daughters. I, too, was watching the man. He was old, dirty, wrinkled, and did not lift his eyes from his work.
“My mother returned. I noticed that she was trembling. She exclaimed quickly:
“ ‘I believe that it is he. Why don’t you ask the captain? But be very careful that we don’t have this rogue on our hands again!’
“My father walked away, but I followed him. I felt strangely moved.
“The captain, a tall, thin man, with blond whiskers, was walking along the bridge with an important air as if he were commanding the Indian mail steamer.
“My father addressed him ceremoniously, and questioned him about his profession, adding many compliments:
“ ‘What might be the importance of Jersey? What did it produce? What was the population? The customs? The nature of the soil?’ etc., etc.
“ ‘You have there an old shell opener who seems quite interesting. Do you know anything about him?’
“The captain, whom this conversation began to weary, answered dryly:
“ ‘He is some
