mpted by feminine curiosity, looked at
them every moment, and no doubt compared them with the secret
unsightliness of her husband. She had squatted herself on the ground
with her legs tucked under her, after the manner of tailors, and kept
wriggling about continually, under the pretext that ants were crawling
about her somewhere. Monsieur Dufour, whom the politeness of the
strangers had put into rather a bad temper, was trying to find a
comfortable position, which he did not, however, succeed in doing,
while the youth with the yellow hair was eating as silently as an ogre.

"It is lovely weather, Monsieur," the stout lady said to one of the
boating-men. She wished to be friendly, because they had given up their
place.

"It is, indeed, Madame," he replied; "do you often go into the country?"

"Oh! Only once or twice a year, to get a little fresh air; and you,
Monsieur?"

"I come and sleep here every night."

"Oh! That must be very nice?"

"Certainly it is, Madame." And he gave them such a practical account of
his daily life, that in the hearts of these shopkeepers, who were
deprived of the meadows, and who longed for country walks, it roused
that innate love of nature, which they all felt so strongly the whole
year round, behind the counter in their shop.

The girl raised her eyes and looked at the oarsman with emotion, and
Monsieur Dufour spoke for the first time.

"It is indeed a happy life," he said. And then he added: "A little more
rabbit, my dear?"

"No, thank you," she replied, and turning to the young men again, and
pointing to their arms, asked "Do you never feel cold like that?"

They both laughed, and amazed the family by telling of the enormous
fatigue they could endure, of bathing while in a state of tremendous
perspiration, of rowing in the fog at night, and they struck their
chests violently, to show how they sounded.

"Ah! You look very strong," the husband said and he did not talk any
more of the time when he used to beat the English. The girl was looking
at them askance now, and the young fellow with the yellow hair, as he
had swallowed some wine the wrong way, and was coughing violently,
bespattered Madame Dufour's sherry-colored silk dress. Madame got
angry, and sent for some water to wash the spots.

Meanwhile it had grown unbearably hot, the sparkling river looked like
a blaze of fire and the fumes of the wine were getting into their
heads. Monsieur Dufour, who had a violent hiccough