And with this he began:—­

     “Jeannette est une brune
       Qui demeure a Pantin,
     Ou toute sa fortune
       Est un petit jardin!”

“Well, if you go on like that, all I have to say is, that not a fish will come within half a mile of our bait,” said I, with tranquil despair.

“Alas! mon cher, I am grieved to observe in your otherwise estimable character, a melancholy want of faith,” replied Mueller “Without faith, what is friendship?  What is angling?  What is matrimony?  Now, I tell you that with regard to the finny tribe, the more I charm them, the more enthusiastically they will flock to be caught.  We shall have a miraculous draught in a few minutes, if you are but patient.”

And then he began again:—­

     “Mimi Pinson est une blonde,
       Une blonde que l’on connait. 
     Elle n’a qu’une robe au monde,
       Landerirette! 
     Et qu’un bonnet.”

I laid aside my rod, folded my arms, and when he had done, applauded ironically.

“Very good,” I said.  “I understand the situation.  We are here, at some—­indeed, I may say, considering the state of our exchequer, at a considerable mutual expense; not to catch fish, but to afford Herr Mueller an opportunity of exercising his extensive memory, and his limited baritone voice.  The entertainment is not without its agrements, but I find it dear at the price.”

“Tiens, Arbuthnot! let us fish seriously.  I promise not to open my lips again till you have caught something.”

“Then, seriously, I believe you would have to be silent the whole night, and all I should catch would be the rheumatism.  I am the worst angler in the world, and the most unlucky.”

“Really and truly?”

“Really and truly.  And you?”

“As bad as yourself.  If a tolerably large and energetic fish did me the honor to swallow my bait, the probability is that he would catch me.  I certainly shouldn’t know what to do with him.”

“Then the present question is—­what shall we do with ourselves?”

“I vote that we row up as far as yonder bend in the river, just to see what lies beyond; and then back to Courbevoie.”

“Heaven only grant that by that time we shall have enough money left for dinner!” I murmured with a sigh.

We rowed up the river as far as the first bend, a distance of about half a mile; and then we rowed on as far as the next bend.  Then we turned, and, resting on our oars, drifted slowly back with the current.  The evening was indescribably brilliant and serene.  The sky was cloudless, of a greenish blue, and full of light.  The river was clear as glass.  We could see the flaccid water-weeds swaying languidly with the current far below, and now and then a shoal of tiny fish shooting along half-way between the weeds and the surface.  A rich fringe of purple iris, spear-leaved sagittarius, and tufted meadow-sweet (each