And especially I thought of Yves, who was my present preoccupation. During the last fortnight, on this Sèvre, it seemed to me that the affection of this simple brother who had long been the only real friend I had in the world, was slowly, hour by hour, drifting from me. And then, also, I was angry with him for not behaving himself better, and it seemed to me, that, for my part, too, I loved him less. . . .
A black bird passed above my head, uttering a mournful croaking.
"Good luck to you!" said a sailor who was making his morning ablution in cold water. "Here's some one come to wish us a happy New Year! . . . You ugly croaker! Anyhow, you are a sign that better things are to follow."
Yves returned at seven o'clock, walking very straight, and answered the roll-call. Afterwards he came to me, as usual, to wish me good morning.
I quickly saw, from his eyes slightly dulled and his voice slightly altered, that he had not been as abstemious as he should. And I said to him in the tone of a curt order:
"Yves, you will not return to shore to-day."
And then I affected to speak to others, conscious that I had been unduly severe and none too pleased with myself.
Midday. The dockyard, the ships are emptying, becoming deserted as on days of holiday. Everywhere the sailors may be seen on their way out for the day, all very smart in their clean Sunday clothes, brushing off with eager hand the least trace of dust, adjusting for one another their large blue collars. Walking briskly they soon reach the gates and press forward into Brest.
When it comes to the turn of those on the Sèvre Yves appears with the others, well brushed, well washed, and very bare about the neck, in his best clothes.
"Yves, where are you going?"