Los Angeles herald., 1891-02-20

ed her to take my cloak. She refused
but had taken it off, and wrapped ii
around her against her wish. n the
slight struggle her hand touched mine
and sent a delightful thrill through me.
The wind had become sharper and the
waves now broke with greater force
against the sides of the ship. raised
myself up and felt rush of air against
my face. The wind was rising!
The Englishman noticed it at the same
time and remarked, s.That is bad"
It certainly was bad; it meant certain
death if the waves, no matter how small,
struck and shook the wreck, already so
broken and disjointed that the first large
one would demolish it.
Then our agony increased from second
to second with the rise of the wind.
Now the waves broke and saw in the
darkness the white line of foam appear
and disappear, while every wave shook
the frame of the Marie Joseph with a
shudder that reached us.
felt the English girl tremble against
me. Twas conscious of wild impulse
to take her in my arms.
Before us, to right, to left, behind us
the lighthouses were shining on the
coasts-white, red, yellow; revolving,
like eyes of giants looking at us, watch
ing eagerly for our destruction. One of
them in particular irritated me. That
one was perfect eye, opening and shut
ting its fiery pupil.
From time to time the Englishman
struck match to look at the hour; then
he would replace his watch in his pocket
Suddenly he said aloud and with per-
feet seriousness, ''Sir, l wish you
happy New Year!'
1t was midnight. I offered my hand
which he shook; then he said something
in English to the girls, who began to sing
''God Save the Queen" At first I felt
like laughing; then was seized by
strong, quaint emotion. There was some
thing superb and sinister about this song
of these wrecked people; something of
prayer and also greater and comparable to
the ''Ave Caesar, morituri te salutamus.'
When the song was ended I asked my
neighbor to sing alone, a ballad, anything
she pleased, to help us forget our situa-
ton. She consented. Her fresh, pure
voice rose upon the night. 1t was doubt
less something sad as the notes fingered
and rose slowly, like wounded birds,
above the waves.
The sea had risen and now struck
against the wreck I thought of nothing
but the voice and of the sirens. My tor
tured spirit was lost in dreams Was she
not siren, this girl who had kept me on
this rotten boat, and who in minute
would be ingulfed with me?
We all now rolled violently upon the
deck. The Marie Joseph has turned upon
the other side. The English girl fell on
me, and seizing her in my arms, madly
and without knowing it, without under
standing, believing this was our last sec
ond of life, 1 kissed her lips, her temples.
her hair. The vessel no longer moved,
nor did we.
Her father called Kate, and she an
swered yes, and tried to free herself from;
my arms. wanted the boat to open; L |
wanted to die with her.
rose slowly and perceived light near
us. called out and was answered. It
was boat hunting for US, the proprietor
of the hotel having guessed our predica-
ment
We were saved. I was in despair. We
left the wreck and returned to st. Mar
lin. The Englishman rubbed his hands
and exclaimed, ''What a supper we will
sat." And we did. I was not gay
the Marie Joseph.
The next morning we separated, with
many regrets and promises to write
They returned to Biarritz and 1 came
very near following them.
l was hard hit and was near asking
Kate in marriage. If we had remained
longer together I certainly would have
done so. How weak and incomprehensi-
BILE man is at times.
Two years passed without my hearing
anything Of them; then received let
ter from New York She was married,
and wrote to tell me. And since then
we write to each other once a year, on
the 1st of January. She speaks to me of
her life, her children, her sisters, never
of her husband. And I speak to her of |
the Marie Joseph. She is perhaps the
only woman I ever loved-no-that I
might have loved. Voila-does one ever
know? Events carry us along And
then - then - everything fades She
must be old now I would not know
her-her of other days - her of the
wreck She writes me hnr hair is
white. Mon dieu! that hurts me terri
bly-that blonde hair No, there is
not trace Of How sad is-all that.
Translated from the French of Mau-
passant fer The New Orleans Picayune
by LAX