The Fête At Coqueville | Page 4

for her, Margot at last
raised her hand. But she stopped, all red; for without waiting for the
slap, he had seized the hand that threatened him and kissed it furiously.
As she trembled, he said to her in a low voice: "I love you. Won't you
have me?"
"Never!" she cried, in rebellion.
He shrugged his shoulders, then with an air, calm and tender, "Pray do
not say that--we shall be very comfortable together, we two. You will

see how nice it is."

II
That Sunday the weather was appalling, one of those sudden calamities
of September that unchain such fearful tempests on the rocky coast of
Grandport. At nightfall Coqueville sighted a ship in distress driven by
the wind. But the shadows deepened, they could not dream of rendering
help. Since the evening before, the "Zéphir" and the "Baleine" had been
moored in the little natural harbor situated at the left of the beach,
between two walls of granite. Neither La Queue nor Rouget had dared
to go out, the worst of it was that M. Mouchel, representing the Widow
Dufeu, had taken the trouble to come in person that Saturday to
promise them a reward if they would make a serious effort; fish was
scarce, they were complaining at the markets. So, Sunday evening,
going to bed under squalls of rain, Coqueville growled in a bad humor.
It was the everlasting story: orders kept coming in while the sea
guarded its fish. And all the village talked of the ship which they had
seen passing in the hurricane, and which must assuredly by that time be
sleeping at the bottom of the water. The next day, Monday, the sky was
dark as ever. The sea, still high, raged without being able to calm itself,
although the wind was blowing less strong. It fell completely, but the
waves kept up their furious motion. In spite of everything, the two
boats went out in the afternoon. Toward four o'clock, the "Zéphir"
came in again, having caught nothing. While the sailors, Tupain and
Brisemotte, anchored in the little harbor, La Queue, exasperated, on the
shore, shook his fist at the ocean. And M. Mouchel was waiting!
Margot was there, with the half of Coqueville, watching the last
surg-ings of the tempest, sharing her father's rancor against the sea and
the sky.
"But where is the 'Baleine'?" demanded some one.
"Out there beyond the point," said La Queue. "If that carcass comes
back whole to-day, it will be by a chance."

He was full of contempt. Then he informed them that it was good for
the Mahés to risk their skins in that way; when one is not worth a sou,
one may perish. As for him, he preferred to break his word to M.
Mouchel.
In the meantime, Margot was examining the point of rocks behind
which the "Baleine" was hidden.
"Father," she asked at last, "have they caught something?"
"They?" he cried. "Nothing at all."
He calmed himself and added more gently, seeing the Emperor, who
was sneering at him:
"I do not know whether they have caught anything, but as they never do
catch anything--"
"Perhaps, to-day, all the same, they have taken something," said the
Emperor ill-naturedly. "Such things have been seen." La Queue was
about to reply angrily. But the Abbé Radiguet, who came up, calmed
him. From the porch of the church the abbé had happened to observe
the "Baleine"; and the bark seemed to be giving chase to some big fish.
This news greatly interested Coqueville. In the groups reunited on the
shore there were Mahés and Floches, the former praying that the boat
might come in with a miraculous catch, the others making vows that it
might come in empty.
Margot, holding herself very straight, did not take her eyes from the sea.
"There they are!" said she simply.
And in fact a black dot showed itself beyond the point. All looked at it.
One would have said a cork dancing on the water. The Emperor did not
see even the black dot. One must be of Coqueville to recognize at that
distance the "Baleine" and those who manned her.
"See!" said Margot, who had the best eyes of the coast, "it is Fouasse
and Rouget who are rowing--The little one is standing up in the bow."

She called Delphin "the little one" so as not to mention his name. And
from then on they followed the course of the bark, trying to account for
her strange movements. As the curé said, she appeared to be giving
chase to some great fish that might be fleeing before her. That seemed
extraordinary. The Emperor pretended that their net was without doubt
being carried away. But La Queue cried that they were do-nothings,
and that they were