ssed him for his goodness. I
forgave him his duplicity, his delight in their happiness was so genuine.
Perhaps it was even better than a _fete_.

When, later in the evening, we arrived at Mme. Flamand's, we found her in
the doorway, her brown face smiling, her white cap and apron in full
relief under the glare of an old-fashioned ship's light, which hung from a
rafter of the porch. Baeader inscribed my name in a much-thumbed,
ink--stained register, which looked like a neglected ship's log, and then
added his own. This, by the by, Baeader never neglected. Neither did he
neglect a certain little ceremony always connected with it.

After it was all over and "Moritz Baeader Courrier et Interprete" was duly
inscribed,--and in justice it must be confessed it was always clearly
written with a flourish at the end that lent it additional
dignity,--Baeader would pause for a moment, carefully balance the pen,
trying it first on his thumb-nail, and then place two little dots of ink
over the first _a_, saying, with a certain wave of his hand, as he did so,
"For ze honor of my families, monsieur." This peculiarity gained for him
from the governor the sobriquet of "old fly-specks."

The inn of Mme. Flamand, although less pretentious than many others that
had sheltered us, was clean and comfortable, the lower deck and
companionway were freshly sanded,--the whole house had a decidedly
nautical air about it,--and the captain's state-room on the upper deck, a
second-floor room, was large and well-lighted, although the ceiling might
have been a trifle too low for the governor, and the bed a few inches too
short.

I ascended to the upper deck, preceded by the hostess carrying the ship's
lantern, now that the last guest had been housed for the night. Baeader
followed with a brass candlestick and a tallow dip about the size of a
lead pencil. With the swinging open of the bedroom door, I made a mental
inventory of all the conveniences: bed, two pillows, plenty of windows,
washstand, towels. Then the all-important question recurred to me, Where
had they hidden the portable tub?

I opened the door of the locker, looked behind a sea-chest, then out of
one window, expecting to see the green-painted luxury hanging by a hook or
drying on a convenient roof. In some surprise I said:--

"And the bath, Baeader?"

"Does monsieur expect to bathe at ze night?" inquired Baeader with a
lifting of his eyebrows, his face expressing a certain alarm for m