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:
