ais-les-Galets,
as Bernard learned the name of this unfashionable resort to be, was
twenty miles from a railway, and the place wore an expression of
unaffected rusticity. Bernard stopped at an inn for his noonday
breakfast, and then, with his appreciation quickened by the homely
felicity of this repast, determined to go no further. He engaged a
room at the inn, dismissed his vehicle, and gave himself up to the
contemplation of French sea-side manners. These were chiefly to be
observed upon a pebbly strand which lay along the front of the village
and served as the gathering-point of its idler inhabitants. Bathing in
the sea was the chief occupation of these good people, including, as it
did, prolonged spectatorship of the process and infinite conversation
upon its mysteries. The little world of Blanquais appeared to form a
large family party, of highly developed amphibious habits, which sat
gossiping all day upon the warm pebbles, occasionally dipping into the
sea and drying itself in the sun, without any relaxation of personal
intimacy. All this was very amusing to Bernard, who in the course of the
day took a bath with the rest. The ocean was, after all, very large, and
when one took one's plunge one seemed to have it quite to one's self.
When he had dressed himself again, Bernard stretched himself on the
beach, feeling happier than he had done in a long time, and pulled his
hat over his eyes. The feeling of happiness was an odd one; it had come
over him suddenly, without visible cause; but, such as it was, our hero
made the most of it. As he lay there it seemed to deepen; his immersion
and his exercise in the salt water had given him an agreeable languor.
This presently became a drowsiness which was not less agreeable, and
Bernard felt himself going to sleep. There were sounds in the air above
his head--sounds of the crunching and rattling of the loose, smooth
stones as his neighbors moved about on them; of high-pitched French
voices exchanging colloquial cries; of the plash of the bathers in the
distant water, and the short, soft breaking of the waves. But these
things came to his ears more vaguely and remotely, and at last they
faded away. Bernard enjoyed half an hour of that light and easy slumber
which is apt to overtake idle people in recumbent attitudes in the open
air on August afternoons. It brought with it an exquisite sense of
rest, and the rest was not spoiled by the fact that it was animated by a
charming dr