of about
half a mile; and then we rowed on as far as the next bend. Then we
turned, and, resting on our oars, drifted slowly back with the current.
The evening was indescribably brilliant and serene. The sky was
cloudless, of a greenish blue, and full of light. The river was clear as
glass. We could see the flaccid water-weeds swaying languidly with the
current far below, and now and then a shoal of tiny fish shooting along
half-way between the weeds and the surface. A rich fringe of purple
iris, spear-leaved sagittarius, and tufted meadow-sweet (each blossom a
bouquet on a slender thyrsus) bordered the towing-path and filled the
air with perfume. Here the meadows lay open to the water's edge; a
little farther on, they were shut off by a close rampart of poplars and
willows whose leaves, already yellowed by autumn, were now fiery in the
sunset. Joyous bands of gnats, like wild little intoxicated maenads,
circled and hummed about our heads as we drifted slowly on; while, far
away and mellowed by distance, we heard the brazen music of the fair.

We were both silent. Mueller pulled out a small sketch-book and made a
rapid study of the scene--the reach in the river; the wooded banks; the
green flats traversed by long lines of stunted pollards; the church-tops
and roofs of Courbevoie beyond.

Presently a soft voice, singing, broke upon the silence. Mueller stopped
involuntarily, pencil in hand. I held my breath, and listened. The tune
was flowing and sweet; and as our boat drifted on, the words of the
singer became audible.

"O miroir ondoyant!
Je reve en te voyant
Harmonie et lumiere,
O ma riviere,
O ma belle riviere!

"On voit se reflechir
Dans ses eaux les nuages;
Elle semble dormir
Entre les paturages

Ou paissent les grands boeufs
Et les grasses genisses.
Au patres amoureux
Que ses bords sont propices!"

"A woman's voice," said Mueller. "Dupont's words and music. She must be
young and pretty ... where has she hidden herself?"

The unseen singer, meanwhile, went on with another verse.

"Pres des iris du bord,
Sous une berge haute,
La carpe aux reflets d'or
Ou le barbeau ressaute,
Les goujons font le guet,
L'Ablette qui scintille
Fuit le dent du brochet;
Au fond rampe l'anguille!

"O miroir ondoyant!
Je reve en te voyant
Harmonic et lumiere,
O ma riviere,
O ma belle