bottle passed, the conversation sped. I think I can still hear the
Stennis brothers pour forth their copious tirades; Dijon, my portly
French fellow-student, drop witticisms, well-conditioned like himself;
and another (who was weak in foreign languages) dash hotly into the
current of talk with some "_Je trove que pore oon sontimong de delicacy,
Corot_...," or some "_Pour moi Corot est le plou_...," and then, his
little raft of French foundering at once, scramble silently to shore
again. He at least could understand; but to Pinkerton, I think the
noise, the wine, the sun, the shadows of the leaves, and the esoteric
glory of being seated at a foreign festival, made up the whole available
means of entertainment.

We sat down about half-past eleven; I suppose it was two when, some
point arising and some particular picture being instanced, an
adjournment to the Louvre was proposed. I paid the score, and in a
moment we were trooping down the Rue de Renne. It was smoking hot; Paris
glittered with that superficial brilliancy which is so agreeable to the
man in high spirits, and in moods of dejection so depressing; the wine
sang in my ears, it danced and brightened in my eyes. The pictures that
we saw that afternoon, as we sped briskly and loquaciously through the
immortal galleries, appear to me, upon a retrospect, the loveliest of
all; the comments we exchanged to have touched the highest mark of
criticism, grave or gay.

It was only when we issued again from the museum that a difference of
race broke up the party. Dijon proposed an adjournment to a cafe, there
to finish the afternoon on beer; the elder Stennis revolted at the
thought, moved for the country--a forest, if possible--and a long walk.
At once the English speakers rallied to the name of any exercise; even
to me, who have been often twitted with my sedentary habits, the thought
of country air and stillness proved invincibly attractive. It appeared,
upon investigation, we had just time to hail a cab and catch one of the
fast trains for Fontainebleau. Beyond the clothes we stood in all were
destitute of what is called, with dainty vagueness, personal effects;
and it was earnestly mooted, on the other side, whether we had not time
to call upon the way and pack a satchel? But the Stennis boys exclaimed
upon our effeminacy. They had come from London, it appeared, a week
before with nothing but great-coats and tooth-brushes. No baggage--there
was the secret of existence.