sing.

"Let's go for a row," said she.

Pleased to see her so charming, he gave in to this new whim and procured
a boat. But she obstinately refused to go to the races, notwithstanding
Patissot's wishes.

"I had rather be alone with you, darling."

His heart thrilled. At last!

He took off his coat and began to row madly.

An old dilapidated mill, whose worm-eaten wheels hung over the water,
stood with its two arches across a little arm of the river. Slowly they
passed beneath it, and, when they were on the other side, they noticed
before them a delightful little stretch of river, shaded by great trees
which formed an arch over their heads. The little stream flowed along,
winding first to the right and then to the left, continually revealing
new scenes, broad fields on one side and on the other side a hill covered
with cottages. They passed before a bathing establishment almost entirely
hidden by the foliage, a charming country spot where gentlemen in clean
gloves and beribboned ladies displayed all the ridiculous awkwardness of
elegant people in the country. She cried joyously:

"Later on we will take a dip there."

Farther on, in a kind of bay, she wished to stop, coaxing:

"Come here, honey, right close to me."

She put her arm around his neck and, leaning her head on his shoulder,
she murmured:

"How nice it is! How delightful it is on the water!"

Patissot was reveling in happiness. He was thinking of those foolish
boatmen who, without ever feeling the penetrating charm of the river
banks and the delicate grace of the reeds, row along out of breath,
perspiring and tired out, from the tavern where they take luncheon to the
tavern where they take dinner.

He was so comfortable that he fell asleep. When he awoke, he was alone.
He called, but no one answered. Anxious, he climbed up on the side of the
river, fearing that some accident might have happened.

Then, in the distance, coming in his direction, he saw a long, slender
gig which four oarsmen as black as negroes were driving through the water
like an arrow. It came nearer, skimming over the water; a woman was
holding the tiller. Heavens! It looked--it was she! In order to
regulate the rhythm of the stroke, she was singing in her shrill voice a
boating song, which she interrupted for a minute as she got in front of
Patissot. Then, throwing him a kiss, she cried:

"You big goose!"

A DINNER AND SOME OPINIONS

On the occasion of the