’"Very true,” I replied, “but the boat will not overset; and both my duty and my honour require that I should run every hazard for those who have put so much trust in me.”  My old boatman took me over safely, and left me on the island; but in returning by himself, the poor fellow’s little boat was caught by a wave, and it skimmed to the bottom like a slate or an oyster-shell that is thrown obliquely into the water.  A general exclamation was uttered from the shore; but, in a few minutes, the boatman was seen sitting upon a row of piles in the middle of the river, wringing his long hair with great composure.

’I have mentioned this boatman repeatedly as an old man, and such he was to all appearance; his hair was grey, his face wrinkled, his back bent, and all his limbs and features had the appearance of those of a man of sixty, yet his real age was but twenty-seven years.  He told me that he was the oldest boatman on the Rhone; that his younger brothers had been worn out before they were twenty-five years old.’

The French society at Lyons included many agreeable people; but Edgeworth singles out from among them, as his special friend, the Marquis de la Poype, who understood English, and was well acquainted with English literature.  He pressed Edgeworth to pay him a visit at his Chateau in Dauphiny, and the latter adds:  ’I promised to pass with him some of the Christmas holidays.  An English gentleman went with me.  We arrived in the evening at a very antique building, surrounded by a moat, and with gardens laid out in the style which was common in England in the beginning of the last century.  These were enclosed by high walls, intersected by canals, and cut into parterres by sandy walks.  We were ushered into a good drawing-room, the walls of which were furnished with ancient tapestry.  When dinner was served, we crossed a large and lofty hall, that was hung round with armour, and with the spoils of the chase; we passed into a moderate-sized eating-room, in which there was no visible fireplace, but which was sufficiently heated by invisible stoves.  The want of the cheerful light of a fire cast a gloom over our repast, and the howling of the wind did not contribute to lessen this dismal effect.  But the dinner was good, and the wine, which was produced from the vineyard close to the house, was excellent.  Madame de la Poype, and two or three of her friends, who were on a visit at her house, conversed agreeably, and all feeling of winter and seclusion was forgotten.

’At night, when I was shown into my chamber, the footman asked if I chose to have my bed warmed.  I inquired whether it was well aired; he assured me, with a tone of integrity, that I had nothing to fear, for “that it had not been slept in for half a year.”  The French are not afraid of damp beds, but they have a great dread of catching some infectious disease from sleeping in any bed in which a stranger may have recently lain.