had spoken to me thus. The rock of Croisic may be perhaps the last of
these my joys. If so, what will become of Pauline?

"Have you had a good catch to-day, my man?" I said to the fisherman.

"Yes, monsieur," he replied, stopping and turning toward us the
swarthy face of those who spend whole days exposed to the reflection
of the sun upon the water.

That face was an emblem of long resignation, of the patience of a
fisherman and his quiet ways. The man had a voice without harshness,
kind lips, evidently no ambition, and something frail and puny about
him. Any other sort of countenance would, at that moment, have jarred
upon us.

"Where shall you sell your fish?"

"In the town."

"How much will they pay you for that lobster?"

"Fifteen sous."

"And the crab?"

"Twenty sous."

"Why so much difference between a lobster and a crab?"

"Monsieur, the crab is much more delicate eating. Besides, it's as