Not a muscle of Maltravers's face moved. He stared coldly at this poor girl whom he had wronged so infamously and there was an aristocratic sneer on his well-cut lip. She staggered rather than walked to the door. She descended the stairs like one dazed. The iron had entered into her soul, and those hearts which have been seared by the burning hand of misfortune can alone sympathize with her. Adéle gained the street. Mechanically she sought the harbor and entered upon the broad pathway of the long pier. There was a wild desperation in her eyes; her face was lighted up with a half-insane gleam; no tears came to her relief. At times a choking sob broke in her throat--this was the only evidence of feeling that she gave vent to. A drizzling rain was falling which kept away the usual promenaders on the pier. The tide was flood and several vessels were sailing out of the harbor. She paid no attention to anything, seeming to be absorbed in her misery. Her eyes became fixed and glassy. Occasionally she moaned as if in pain, and pressed her hand to her side to still the beating of her heart. When the end of the pier was reached, she stopped, raised her eyes to heaven and her lips moved as if in silent prayer. Then she sprung lightly over the parapet and fell into the foaming sea, whose waves were beating in clouds of spray against the wooden supports of the pier. A large merchantman was passing out of the harbor at the time with all sails set, and the rash act of the poor suicide was witnessed by the sailors on the deck. Without a moment's hesitation one gallant fellow jumped overboard and swam toward the drowning girl. He succeeded in reaching her as she was about to sink, and held her up, until a boat from his ship came to her rescue. Adéle and her brave preserver were picked up and conveyed to the vessel, she being in a dead faint. "Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the sailor, as his eyes fell more closely upon the girl's features. "It is Adéle Bellefontaine, from my village of St. Ange, just as sure as my name is Jacques Belot and she was the only girl I ever loved, until she married that scoundrelly Englishman, who deserted her. If it had not been for Adéle, here, I should never have gone to sea." "What are we to do with her?" asked the captain. "The wind and tide are against us and it is bad luck to put back." "Take her with us, captain," said Jacques, who was a fine, handsome young sailor. "It is bad luck to have a would-be suicide on board," remarked the boatswain. "Ah! bah! you old croaker," replied Jacques. "How do you know the girl intended to kill herself?" "I saw her deliberately jump into the sea." "And I saw her blown over the side of the pier, by the wind." The sailors laughed at this sally, which encouraged Jacques. "Won't you take her to New York, captain?" he continued.