The fresh air completed the effect of the alcohol on Monsieur Sauvage.  He stopped suddenly, saying: 

“Suppose we go there?”

“Where?”

“Fishing.”

“But where?”

“Why, to the old place.  The French outposts are close to Colombes.  I know Colonel Dumoulin, and we shall easily get leave to pass.”

Morissot trembled with desire.

“Very well.  I agree.”

And they separated, to fetch their rods and lines.

An hour later they were walking side by side on the-highroad.  Presently they reached the villa occupied by the colonel.  He smiled at their request, and granted it.  They resumed their walk, furnished with a password.

Soon they left the outposts behind them, made their way through deserted Colombes, and found themselves on the outskirts of the small vineyards which border the Seine.  It was about eleven o’clock.

Before them lay the village of Argenteuil, apparently lifeless.  The heights of Orgement and Sannois dominated the landscape.  The great plain, extending as far as Nanterre, was empty, quite empty-a waste of dun-colored soil and bare cherry trees.

Monsieur Sauvage, pointing to the heights, murmured: 

“The Prussians are up yonder!”

And the sight of the deserted country filled the two friends with vague misgivings.

The Prussians!  They had never seen them as yet, but they had felt their presence in the neighborhood of Paris for months past—­ruining France, pillaging, massacring, starving them.  And a kind of superstitious terror mingled with the hatred they already felt toward this unknown, victorious nation.

“Suppose we were to meet any of them?” said Morissot.

“We’d offer them some fish,” replied Monsieur Sauvage, with that Parisian light-heartedness which nothing can wholly quench.

Still, they hesitated to show themselves in the open country, overawed by the utter silence which reigned around them.

At last Monsieur Sauvage said boldly: 

“Come, we’ll make a start; only let us be careful!”

And they made their way through one of the vineyards, bent double, creeping along beneath the cover afforded by the vines, with eye and ear alert.

A strip of bare ground remained to be crossed before they could gain the river bank.  They ran across this, and, as soon as they were at the water’s edge, concealed themselves among the dry reeds.

Morissot placed his ear to the ground, to ascertain, if possible, whether footsteps were coming their way.  He heard nothing.  They seemed to be utterly alone.

Their confidence was restored, and they began to fish.

Before them the deserted Ile Marante hid them from the farther shore.  The little restaurant was closed, and looked as if it had been deserted for years.

Monsieur Sauvage caught the first gudgeon, Monsieur Morissot the second, and almost every moment one or other raised his line with a little, glittering, silvery fish wriggling at the end; they were having excellent sport.