a few wiffs himself. He was a robust little fellow, with round cheeks--a
kind of little brother to them all, more or less related to one another
as they were; otherwise his work had been hard enough for the darling of
the crew. Yann let him drink out of his own glass before he was sent to
bed. Thereupon the important topic of marriage was revived.

"But I say, Yann," asked Sylvestre, "when are we going to celebrate your
wedding?"

"You ought to be ashamed," said the master; "a hulking chap like you,
twenty-seven years old and not yet spliced; ho, ho! What must the lasses
think of you when they see you roll by?"

Yann answered by snapping his thick fingers with a contemptuous look for
the women folk. He had just worked off his five years' government naval
service; and it was as master-gunner of the fleet that he had learned to
speak good French and hold sceptical opinions. He hemmed and hawed
and then rattled off his latest love adventure, which had lasted a
fortnight.

It happened in Nantes, a Free-and-Easy singer for the heroine. One
evening, returning from the waterside, being slightly tipsy, he had
entered the music hall. At the door stood a woman selling big bouquets
at twenty francs apiece. He had bought one without quite knowing what
he should do with it, and before he was much more than in had thrown it
with great force at the vocalist upon the stage, striking her full in
the face, partly as a rough declaration of love, partly through disgust
for the painted doll that was too pink for his taste. The blow had
felled the woman to the boards, and--she worshipped him during the three
following weeks.