We had left the boats over-night in the custody of one whom we shall call Carnival.  I did not properly catch his name, and perhaps that was not unfortunate for him, as I am not in a position to hand him down with honour to posterity.  To this person’s premises we strolled in the course of the day, and found quite a little deputation inspecting the canoes.  There was a stout gentleman with a knowledge of the river, which he seemed eager to impart.  There was a very elegant young gentleman in a black coat, with a smattering of English, who led the talk at once to the Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race.  And then there were three handsome girls from fifteen to twenty; and an old gentleman in a blouse, with no teeth to speak of, and a strong country accent.  Quite the pick of Origny, I should suppose.

The Cigarette had some mysteries to perform with his rigging in the coach-house; so I was left to do the parade single-handed.  I found myself very much of a hero whether I would or not.  The girls were full of little shudderings over the dangers of our journey.  And I thought it would be ungallant not to take my cue from the ladies.  My mishap of yesterday, told in an off-hand way, produced a deep sensation.  It was Othello over again, with no less than three Desdemonas and a sprinkling of sympathetic senators in the background.  Never were the canoes more flattered, or flattered more adroitly.

‘It is like a violin,’ cried one of the girls in an ecstasy.

‘I thank you for the word, mademoiselle,’ said I.  ’All the more since there are people who call out to me that it is like a coffin.’

’Oh! but it is really like a violin.  It is finished like a violin,’ she went on.

‘And polished like a violin,’ added a senator.

‘One has only to stretch the cords,’ concluded another, ’and then tum-tumty-tum’—­he imitated the result with spirit.

Was not this a graceful little ovation?  Where this people finds the secret of its pretty speeches, I cannot imagine; unless the secret should be no other than a sincere desire to please?  But then no disgrace is attached in France to saying a thing neatly; whereas in England, to talk like a book is to give in one’s resignation to society.

The old gentleman in the blouse stole into the coach-house, and somewhat irrelevantly informed the Cigarette that he was the father of the three girls and four more:  quite an exploit for a Frenchman.

‘You are very fortunate,’ answered the Cigarette politely.

And the old gentleman, having apparently gained his point, stole away again.

We all got very friendly together.  The girls proposed to start with us on the morrow, if you please!  And, jesting apart, every one was anxious to know the hour of our departure.  Now, when you are going to crawl into your canoe from a bad launch, a crowd, however friendly, is undesirable; and so we told them not before twelve, and mentally determined to be off by ten at latest.