Something about the action caught my
eye. That movement of the arm! It was not--it could not be--no, no, not
Hugo!
A very ordinary person; and Le Geyt bore the stamp of a born gentleman.
He stood up bare at last. He flung out his arms, as if to welcome
the boisterous wind to his naked bosom. Then, with a sudden burst of
recognition, the man stood revealed. We had bathed together a hundred
times in London and elsewhere. The face, the clad figure, the dress, all
were different. But the body--the actual frame and make of the man--the
well-knit limbs, the splendid trunk--no disguise could alter. It was Le
Geyt himself--big, powerful, vigorous.
That ill-made suit, those baggy knickerbockers, the slouched cap, the
thin thread stockings, had only distorted and hidden his figure. Now
that I saw him as he was, he came out the same bold and manly form as
ever.
He did not notice me. He rushed down with a certain wild joy into the
turbulent water, and, plunging in with a loud cry, buffeted the huge
waves with those strong curving arms of his. The sou'-wester was rising.
Each breaker as it reared caught him on its crest and tumbled him over
like a cork, but like a cork he rose again.
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