Everybody in Fecamp knew Mother Patin's story. She had certainly been unfortunate with her husband, for in his lifetime he used to beat her, just as wheat is threshed in the barn.

 

He was master of a fishing bark and had married her, formerly¹, because she was pretty, although poor.

 

Patin was a good sailor, but brutal². He used to frequent Father Auban's inn, where he would usually drink four or five glasses of brandy, on lucky days eight or ten glasses and even more, according to his mood. The brandy was served to the customers by Father Auban's daughter, a pleasing brunette, who attracted people to the house only by her pretty face, for nothing had ever been gossiped about her.

 

Patin, when he entered the inn, would be satisfied to look at her and to compliment her politely and respectfully. After he had had his first glass of brandy he would already find her much nicer; at the second he would wink³; at the third he would say. “If you were only willing, Mam'zelle Desiree——” without ever finishing his sentence; at the fourth he would try to hold her back by her skirt in order to kiss her; and when he went as high as ten it was Father Auban who brought him the remaining drinks.

 

The old innkeeper, who knew all the tricks of the trade, made Desiree walk about between the tables in order to increase the consumption of drinks; and Desiree, who was a worthy⁴ daughter of Father Auban, flitted around among the benches and joked with them, her lips smiling and her eyes sparkling.

 

Patin got so well accustomed to Desiree's face that he thought of it even while at sea, when throwing out his nets, in storms or in calms, on moonlit or dark evenings. He thought of her while holding the tiller in the stern of his boat, while his four companions were slumbering⁵ with their heads on their arms. He always saw her, smiling, pouring out the yellow brandy with a peculiar⁶ shoulder movement and then exclaiming as she turned away: “There, now; are you satisfied?”

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