Bah! and look at those nuns: they are animated coffins, holding only dead remembrances and dried, perfumeless flowers." A strong and steady east wind had driven away all vestige of the storm.
The sea was running westward in long and swinging leaps, colorful, dazzling, foam-crested.

The singing air was spangled with frosty brine-mist; a thousand flashes were cast back from the city windows; the flower of the lily fluttered from a hundred masts.

A noble vision, truly, was the good ship Saint Laurent, standing out boldly against the clear horizon and the dark green of the waters.

High up among the spars and shrouds swarmed the seamen.

Canvas flapped and bellied as it dropped, from arm to arm, sending the fallen snow in a flurry to the decks.