“Yes, yes, there she is.  I know her two funnels.  Would you like to look, Mme. Rosemilly?”

She took the telescope and directed it towards the Atlantic horizon, without being able, however, to find the vessel, for she could distinguish nothing—­nothing but blue, with a coloured halo round it, a circular rainbow—­and then all manner of queer things, winking eclipses which made her feel sick.

She said as she returned the glass: 

“I never could see with that thing.  It used to put my husband in quite a rage; he would stand for hours at the windows watching the ships pass.”

Old Roland, much put out, retorted: 

“Then it must be some defect in your eye, for my glass is a very good one.”

Then he offered it to his wife.

“Would you like to look?”

“No, thank you.  I know before hand that I could not see through it.”

Mme. Roland, a woman of eight-and-forty but who did not look it, seemed to be enjoying this excursion and this waning day more than any of the party.

Her chestnut hair was only just beginning to show streaks of white.  She had a calm, reasonable face, a kind and happy way with her which it was a pleasure to see.  Her son Pierre was wont to say that she knew the value of money, but this did not hinder her from enjoying the delights of dreaming.  She was fond of reading, of novels, and poetry, not for their value as works of art, but for the sake of the tender melancholy mood they would induce in her.  A line of poetry, often but a poor one, often a bad one, would touch the little chord, as she expressed it, and give her the sense of some mysterious desire almost realized.  And she delighted in these faint emotions which brought a little flutter to her soul, otherwise as strictly kept as a ledger.

Since settling at Havre she had become perceptibly stouter, and her figure, which had been very supple and slight, had grown heavier.

This day on the sea had been delightful to her.  Her husband, without being brutal, was rough with her, as a man who is the despot of his shop is apt to be rough, without anger or hatred; to such men to give an order is to swear.  He controlled himself in the presence of strangers, but in private he let loose and gave himself terrible vent, though he was himself afraid of every one.  She, in sheer horror of the turmoil, of scenes, of useless explanations, always gave way and never asked for anything; for a very long time she had not ventured to ask Roland to take her out in the boat.  So she had joyfully hailed this opportunity, and was keenly enjoying the rare and new pleasure.

From the moment when they started she surrendered herself completely, body and soul, to the soft, gliding motion over the waves.  She was not thinking; her mind was not wandering through either memories or hopes; it seemed to her as though her heart, like her body, was floating on something soft and liquid and delicious which rocked and lulled it.