“In a few weeks, after we had exhausted every amusement that the dull town afforded, become intimate with all the old gossips, tired of listening to the yarns of the pilot-tars off duty, driven the donkeys over the country until they instinctively avoided us whenever we appeared, sailed in the bay and suffered periodic attacks of sea-sickness therefrom, finished the circulating library, and half learned some barbarous sentences of Norman patois, we sat down disconsolate one afternoon to devise some means of employing the remainder of our time. It was then that the bright idea struck Annie, and she exclaimed, ‘Let us go to the Paris Exposition!’
“‘Just the thing!’ I answered with enthusiasm. ’I wonder when the next train starts?’
“’I’ll go and inquire: you begin and pack the trunks. If we can get off to-day, by to-morrow morning we can begin seeing it;’ and she left the room in great excitement.
“The result was, that by seven o’clock that evening we had made our hasty preparations, and were ready to set out. It was raining terribly when the only hack of the village (which, by the by, was an omnibus) called for us at the door. The dripping fluid oozed and sparkled over the blinking lamps, the ribbed sides of the antiquated machine were varnished with moisture, and the horses looked as if each hair was a water-spout to drain the sky. Noah’s patriarchal mansion might have presented a similar appearance during the first days of that celebrated wet season.
“The motherly woman with whom we had been boarding turned dismally from the weather to her invalids and tried to dissuade us from leaving that night, little understanding that we considered it ‘fun.’ As a parting advice she told us to call each other madame: it would procure us more consideration. ‘For you know, young ladies,’ she remonstrated mildly, ‘it is not quite proper for you to travel alone.’ After this prudent counsel and many warm adieus we sallied forth.
“The omnibus was crowded, and I had perforce to sit on Annie’s knees. This, with the jolting, the queer effect of the half-light in the rickety interior, together with the expression of the good people, who evidently could see no fun in rain, excited my risibility so strongly that I indulged in a smothered laugh, tempered to fit the publicity of the occasion.
“‘You must not laugh in France,’ whispered Nan, pulling my dress.