Now, almost intoxicated, they began to howl. Each of them, with bloodshot eyes, and his chosen female companion on his knee, sang or bawled, struck the table with his fist, shouted while swilling wine down his throat, set free the human brute. In the midst of them, Celestin Duclos, pressing close to him, a big damsel with red cheeks, who sat astride over his legs, gazed at her ardently. Less tipsy than the others, not that he had taken less drink, he was as yet occupied with other thoughts, and, more tender than his comrades, he tried to get up a chat. His thoughts wandered a little, escaped him, and then came back, and disappeared again, without allowing him to recollect exactly what he meant to say. "What time--what time--how long are you here?" "Six months," the girl answered. He seemed to be satisfied with her, as if this were a proof of good conduct, and he went on questioning her: "Do you like this life?" She hesitated, then in a tone of resignation. "One gets used to it. It is not more worrying than any other kind of life. To be a servant-girl or else a scrub is always a nasty occupation." He looked as if he also approved of the truthful remark. "You are not from this place?" said he. She answered merely by shaking her head. "Do you come from a distance?" She nodded, still without opening her lips. "Where is it you come from?" She appeared to be thinking, to be searching her memory, then said falteringly: "From Perpignan." He was once more perfectly satisfied, and said: "Ah! yes." In her turn she asked: "And you, are you a sailor?" "Yes, my beauty." "Do you come from a distance?" "Ah! yes. I have seen countries, ports, and everything." "You have been round the world, perhaps?" "I believe you, twice rather than once." Again she seemed to hesitate, to search in her brain for something that she had forgotten, then, in a tone somewhat different, more serious: "Have you met many ships in your voyages?" "I believe you, my beauty." "You did not happen to see the _Notre Dame des Vents_?" He chuckled: "No later than last week." She turned pale, all the blood leaving her cheeks, and asked: "Is that true, perfectly true?" "'Tis true as I tell you." "Honor bright! you are not telling me a lie?" He raised his hand. "Before God, I'm not!" said he. "Then do you know whether Celestin Duclos is still on her?" He was astonished, uneasy, and wished, before answering, to learn something further. "Do you know him?" She became distrustful in turn. "Oh! 'tis not myself--'tis a woman who is acquainted with him." "A woman from this place?" "No, from a place not far off." "In the street?" "What sort of a woman?" "Why, then, a woman--a woman like myself." "What has she to say to him, this woman?" "I believe she is a country-woman of his." They stared into one another's hand, watching one another, feeling, divining that something of a grave nature was going to arise between them. He resumed: