As for old Villaumetz, his whole life had been spent on board ship.  He had gone with M. d’Entrecasteaux to search for La Peyrouse; he had commanded the squadron from which Prince Jerome Bonaparte deserted with his ship the Veteran, and his stories of sea fights and adventures were endless.  Listening to them first inspired me with that longing to enter the naval career which never left me again.

My first attempts at seafaring were made at Treport, during the short holiday trips we used to take to the Chateau d’Eu.  I was dreadfully sea-sick every time, but that did not dismay me; and then the honest sailors, with their simple, open, resolute faces, attracted me irresistibly I used to envy them their risky life, as I watched their boats from the jetty at Treport, running in before the gale.  That settled the matter; I was regularly fascinated, in short.  And that love of my life will last as long as I do.  Besides the sailoring charm which Treport had for me, many a pleasant memory of my life is bound up with Eu and Randan.  My parents were accustomed in holiday times to take us for a little trip either to Eu or to Randan, a large property in the Auvergne belonging to my aunt.  During these journeys, lessons and school hours and study of every kind were intermitted, and this alone sufficed to give them a sovereign charm.  It should be added that in those days travelling was not what it is now, and that these trips gave rise to many little adventures, for which we were always on the look out.  My father had had a big carriage built with room for twelve people in it, which held the whole family, and which, with all due deference, was very like a travelling menagerie-van.  A courier used to ride on ahead to order post horses; another rode just in front of the carriage.  When each stage was finished, the six horses that were to draw us for the next were led up:  wicked, cross-grained stallions they were, that squealed and bit and kicked.  They got harnessed somehow or other; and then out came the dapper postilions, with their hats trimmed with gay ribbons, cocked on one side, some of them still wearing powder and with their hair tied in a club.  They had waistcoats trimmed with dozens of silver buttons, and close-fitting pantaloons covered their legs.  Margot would bring out the great iron-bound boots, into which they shoved those same legs; they were hoisted laboriously on to their horses; the postmaster shouted, “Now then, in with your spurs, and let them go!” and off we went full tear, bells jingling and whips cracking, to the admiration of the women and children of the village gathered round to see the show.  Once we were off, things calmed down; but the postboys had no control whatever over their horses, who knew the road, and did the stage, from force of habit, at their own pace.  If we came across other carriages or wagons on the road, it was just a question as to whether our team would take us too much out of their way, or not enough.  Such meetings were proclaimed