Waterbury evening Democrat., 1903-07-16
The Fisher
 By NELLIE K. BLISSETT

! ! 8-%%%%+%%%%$%@%$$ < f < < &&$ %%$%%f A SPLASH of yellow light fell from "A the doorway of the cafe of S. Maurin into the still, blue darkness of the little quay, where a couple of flick ering lamps only served to make the gloom more profound. The moon had not risen, and the pale radiance of the stars showed the long, slow swell of an oily sea. Against the wall of the quay lay a tiny sailing yacht. Further out, midway between the horns of the harbor, fishing-boat with widespread sails that seemed hardly to catch the faint evening air drifted like shadow through the night.
 Tn the cafe half dozen men, fishers of this little port, lounged idly over their glasses. Old Antoine, the inn keeper, drowsed as usual in his corner chair. Jean Modesto, his grandson, sat with torn net across his knee and his black head bent. The rest slipped their coarse wine, and talked to each other spasmodically of the weather or the prospects of good catch.
 Suddenly Jean Modesto, looking up from the tear in the net, made with his free hand the sign of the Cross. The others looked at him with curious, half frightened eyes. He was staring through the open doorway at the sea. There was an instant of heavy silence. The glasses ceased to clink, and only old Antoine snored softly in his cor ner
 Jean Modeste's eyes fell again to his net.
 'The Fisher!" he said, in low tone of explanation.
 Everyone, except the sleeping inn keeper, turned at once to the door. Be- tween the horns of the bay the one wide sail was drifting lazily nearer. Again there was silence In the cafe, an odd, unwholesome stiffness, heavy with ill-omen and expectation of evil to come.
 Presently big Jules Bontemps took draught of his wine and set the glass down noisily on the table at which he sat.
 stFor my part" he said, T don't be- lieve in this Fisher-there! Every sail you see near s. Maurin, it's the same thing with you a1l-the Fisher! I'm a stranger-I-thank the good God there's no Fisher in this port of Nice-no! Now, will any of you tell me, my friends, who this Fisher of yours is, and what he seeks?''
 The question was addressed generally to the whole company present, but no- body answered. Instead, they all looked at Jean Modesto as he bent over his net
 "Who he is-" he spoke, meditatfve- ly. 'tAh, for that-no one can tell you. What he seeks-that's another matter. They do say"
 He broke off, and glanced again through the open door. The black sail was drifting very slowly towards the land.
 Well. what do they say?" Bontemps asked, impatiently.
 The young man turned again to his net
 They say" he answered, in the same low, unwilling tone, ttthat he fishes for the souls of men,"
 Bontemps stared for second. Then he flung back his rough black head with great laugh.
 '"The souls of men! An, my faith, that's good! Are you Christians, then, fn this harbor of s. Maurin?"
 "As good as any in the port of Nice," Jean Modesto replied, with 8 touch of heat.
 Bontemps laughed again.
 ''Ne offense, my friend. But come, it's absurd, you know. It's moonshine- that's what it is This Fisher of yours-'' #Ha
 Jean Modesto cut through his speech and lifted finger from his net to point through the door.
 There" he said, "is the Fisher. Laugh-if you please" Bontemps was silent. The shadowy sail had drifted very near. Again still ness fell upon the little group, broken only by the old mans heavy breathing.
 'Laugh-if you please!" Jean Modesto said again. None of us here will laugh with you What if we cannot tell you who the Fisher Is? We know his work we'll enough Did he not follow my brothers boat, the Marie Blanche, the last voyage ever she took? Never a man came back to tell the tale-but the Fisher sailed behind them out of s. Maurin bay. That saw-with these eyes-yes!"
 Bontemps did not answer. A kind of breathlessness had fallen upon the rest Jean Modesto shifted the net across his knee and spoke once more You ask what the Fisher seeks" he said .'Well-in the port of Nice he may have other business for what know. But here, when he sails in the bay. he seeks mans soul '