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.
The captain， a tall， thin man， with blond whiskers， was walking along the bridge with an important air as if he were commanding the Indian mail steamer.
My father addressed him ceremoniously， and questioned him about his profession， adding many compliments：
“What might be the importance of Jersey？ What did it produce？ What was the population？ The customs？ The nature of the soil？” etc.， etc.
“You have there an old shell opener who seems quite interesting. Do you know anything about him？”
The captain， whom this conversation began to weary， answered dryly： “He is some old French tramp whom I found last year in America， andI brought him back. It seems that he has some relatives in Havre， but that he doesn’t wish to return to them because he owes them money. His name is Jules Jules Darmanche or Darvanche or something like that. It seems that he was once rich over there， but you can see what’s left of him now.”
My father turned ashy pale and muttered， his throat contracted， his eyes haggard.
“Ah！ ah！ very well， very well. I’m not in the least surprised. Thank you very much， captain.”
He went away， and the astonished sailor watched him disappear. He returned to my mother so upset that she said to him：
“Sit down； some one will notice that something is the matter.” He sank down on a bench and stammered：
“It’s he！ It’s he！” Then he asked：
“What are we going to do？” She answered quickly：
“We must get the children out of the way. Since Joseph knows everything， he can go and get them. We must take good care that our son- in-law doesn’t find out.”
My father seemed absolutely bewildered. He murmured： “What a catastrophe！”
Suddenly growing furious， my mother exclaimed：
“I always thought that that thief never would do anything， and that he would drop down on us again！ As if one could expect anything from a Davranche！”
My father passed his hand over his forehead， as he always did when his wife reproached him. She added：
“Give Joseph some money so that he can pay for the oysters. All that it needed to cap the climax would be to be recognized by that beggar. That would be very pleasant！ Let’s get down to the other end of the boat， and take care that that man doesn’t come near us！”
They gave me five francs and walked away.
Astonished， my sisters were awaiting their father. I said that mamma had felt a sudden attack of sea-sickness， and I asked the shell opener：
“How much do we owe you， monsieur？”
I felt like laughing： he was my uncle！ He answered： “Two francs fifty.”
I held out my five francs and he returned the change. I looked at his hand； it was a poor， wrinkled， sailor’s hand， and I looked at his face， an unhappy old face. I said to myself：
“That is my uncle， the brother of my father， my uncle！” I gave him a ten-cent tip. He thanked me：
“God bless you， my young sir！”
He spoke like a poor man receiving alms. I couldn’t help thinking thathe must have begged over there！ My sisters looked at me， surprised at my generosity. When I returned the two francs to my father， my mother asked me in surprise：
“Was there three francs’ worth？ That is impossible.” I answered in a firm voice：
“I gave ten cents as a tip.”
My mother started， and， staring at me， she exclaimed：
