“My father was swelling out his chest in the breeze, beneath his frock coat, which had that morning been very carefully cleaned; and he spread around him that odor of benzine which always made me recognize Sunday. Suddenly he noticed two elegantly dressed ladies to whom two gentlemen were offering oysters. An old, ragged sailor was opening them with his knife and passing them to the gentlemen, who would then offer them to the ladies. They ate them in a dainty manner, holding the shell on a fine handkerchief and advancing their mouths a little in order not to spot their dresses. Then they would drink the liquid with a rapid little motion and throw the shell overboard. “My father was probably pleased with this delicate manner of eating oysters on a moving ship. He considered it good form, refined, and, going up to my mother and sisters, he asked: “'Would you like me to offer you some oysters?' “My mother hesitated on account of the expense, but my two sisters immediately accepted. My mother said in a provoked manner: “'I am afraid that they will hurt my stomach. Offer the children some, but not too much, it would make them sick.' Then, turning toward me, she added: “'As for Joseph, he doesn't need any. Boys shouldn't be spoiled.' “However, I remained beside my mother, finding this discrimination unjust. I watched my father as he pompously conducted my two sisters and his son-in-law toward the ragged old sailor. “The two ladies had just left, and my father showed my sisters how to eat them without spilling the liquor. He even tried to give them an example, and seized an oyster. He attempted to imitate the ladies, and immediately spilled all the liquid over his coat. I heard my mother mutter: “'He would do far better to keep quiet.' “But, suddenly, my father appeared to be worried; he retreated a few steps, stared at his family gathered around the old shell opener, and quickly came toward us. He seemed very pale, with a peculiar look. In a low voice he said to my mother: “'It's extraordinary how that man opening the oysters looks like Jules.' “Astonished, my mother asked: “'What Jules?' “My father continued: “'Why, my brother. If I did not know that he was well off in America, I should think it was he.' “Bewildered, my mother stammered: “'You are crazy! As long as you know that it is not he, why do you say such foolish things?' “But my father insisted: “'Go on over and see, Clarisse! I would rather have you see with your own eyes.' “She arose and walked to her daughters. I, too, was watching the man. He was old, dirty, wrinkled, and did not lift his eyes from his work. “My mother returned. I noticed that she was trembling. She exclaimed quickly: “'I believe that it is he. Why don't you ask the captain? But be very careful that we don't have this rogue on our hands again!' “My father walked away, but I followed him. I felt strangely moved.