And yet, yes!--something told her that he had a heart, but that he was
just a big boy whom the life of the sea had spoilt. And with a great
tenderness she recalled his handsome, gentle face, his voice, his smile
in those hours when he was sober. . . .
Abandon him? . . . At the idea that he should go his ways alone, utterly
lost then, and throwing care to the devil, delivered up to his vices and
to the vices of others, to begin again his life of debauchery with other
women, to sail distant seas, and then to grow old alone, forsaken,
exhausted by alcohol! . . . Oh! at this idea of leaving him, she was
seized with an anguish more terrible than all: she felt that she was
bound to him now by a bond stronger than any reason, than any human
will. She loved him passionately, without realizing the strength of her
love. . . . No, rather than that, if she was not able to draw him back,
she would let herself sink with him to the last degradation in order
that she might still hold him in her arms, until the hour of death.