Belhomme had seated himself on the table and had taken
the bowl between his knees; he was observing, with
serious attention and a vengeful anger in his eye,
the conquered insect which was twisting round in the
water. He grunted, “You rotten little beast!”
and he spat on it.
The driver, wild with joy, kept repeating: “A
flea, a flea, ah! there you are, damned little flea,
damned little flea, damned little flea!” Then
having calmed down a little, he cried: “Well,
back to the coach! We’ve lost enough time.”
The steamer was crowded with people and the crossing
promised to be good. I was going from Havre to
Trouville.
The ropes were thrown off, the whistle blew for the
last time, the whole boat started to tremble, and
the great wheels began to revolve, slowly at first,
and then with ever-increasing rapidity.
We were gliding along the pier, black with people.
Those on board were waving their handkerchiefs, as
though they were leaving for America, and their friends
on shore were answering in the same manner.
The big July sun was shining down on the red parasols,
the light dresses, the joyous faces and on the ocean,
barely stirred by a ripple. When we were out
of the harbor, the little vessel swung round the big
curve and pointed her nose toward the distant shore
which was barely visible through the early morning
mist. On our left was the broad estuary of the
Seine, her muddy water, which never mingles with that
of the ocean, making large yellow streaks clearly
outlined against the immense sheet of the pure green
sea.
As soon as I am on a boat I feel the need of walking
to and fro, like a sailor on watch. Why?
I do not know. Therefore I began to thread my
way along the deck through the crowd of travellers.
Suddenly I heard my name called. I turned around.
I beheld one of my old friends, Henri Sidoine, whom
I had not seen for ten years.
We shook hands and continued our walk together, talking
of one thing or another. Suddenly Sidoine, who
had been observing the crowd of passengers, cried
out angrily:
“It’s disgusting, the boat is full of
English people!”
It was indeed full of them. The men were standing
about, looking over the ocean with an all-important
air, as though to say: “We are the English,
the lords of the sea! Here we are!”
The young girls, formless, with shoes which reminded
one of the naval constructions of their fatherland,
wrapped in multi-colored shawls, were smiling vacantly
at the magnificent scenery. Their small heads,
planted at the top of their long bodies, wore English
hats of the strangest build.
And the old maids, thinner yet, opening their characteristic
jaws to the wind, seemed to threaten one with their
long, yellow teeth. On passing them, one could
notice the smell of rubber and of tooth wash.
Sidoine repeated, with growing anger:
