ong the broad board walks; this Boulevard des Italiens of the Normandy coast, under the

isherman's net was spread a-drying, to stay the appetite with a sense of past favors done by the sea to mortals more fortunate than we. The whole face of nature was as indifferent as a rich relation grown callous to the voice of entreaty. There

lla roofs and casino terraces, resolved itself into a figure stolid and sturdy, very brown of leg, and insolent of demeanor-swaggering along as if conscious of there being a full-grown man buttoned up within a boy's ragged coat. The swagg

denly came to a dead stop. The rou

as of it was all pocket, apparently. Into the pockets the boy's hands were stuffed, along with his a

an unmistakable ring of distress in her tone. There was no need of any further explanation. These two hearty young appetit

e, we couldn't leave th

is afternoon stroll with no other purpose than to guard them. "Ther

nstant, over the tallest of the trunks. The skilful whistling was resumed at once; our appearance and the boy's present occupation were mere interl

ng perilously in mid-air, to shout out "I like made

ettling himself to await

charm with which these dumb villas and mute shops were invested, that we walked along as if under the spell of fascination. Perhaps the charm is a matter of sex, after all: towns are feminine, in the wise French idiom, that idiom so delicate in discerning qualities of sex in inanimate objects, as the Greeks before them were clever in discovering sex distinctions in the moral qualities. Trouville was so true a woman, that the coquette in her was alive and breathing even in this her moment of suspended animation. The closed blinds and iron shutters appeared to be winking at us, slyly, as if warning us not to believe in this nightmare of

and there, leaned over to us from a high window; even these feminine eyes, however, appeared to be glued with the long winter's lethargy of dull sleep; they betrayed no edge of surprise or curiosity. The

es away. Inland, the eye plunged over nests of clover, across the tops of the apple and peach trees, frosted now

he milki

e voices of children would occasionally fill the air with a loud clamor of speech; then our steed's bell-collar would jingle, and for the children's cries, a bird-throat, high above, from the heights of a tall pine would pour forth, as if in uncontrollable ecstasy, its rapture into the stillness of this radiant Normandy garden. The song appeared to be heard by other ears than ours. We were certain the dull-brained sheep were greatly affected by the strains of that generous-organed songster-they were so very still under the pink apple boughs. The cows ar

w, lay the fluctuant mass we call the sea. It was all a glassy yellow surface now; into the liquid mirror the polychrome sails sent down long lines of color. The sun had sunk beyond the Havre hills, but the f

A VILLAGE STR

ry grew out of

re following it. The snapping of our driver's whip had brought every inhabitant of the street upon the narrow sidewalks. A few old women and babies hung forth from the windows, but the houses were so low, that even this portion of the population, hampered somewhat by distance and comparative isolation, had been enab

he shadowy groups filling the low

ins to arrive

es-alone-

icaines-they go round

f they are youn

se English!" A chorus of croaking laughter rattled down

and rickety houses wavered in outline, as the bent shapes of the aged totter across dimly-lit interiors. A fisherman's bare legs, lit by some dimly illumined interior; a line of nets in the little yards; here and there a white kerchief or cotton cap, dazzling in whiteness, thrown out against the black facades, were

stood there for a long instant, rubbing its hands, as it peered out into the dusk of the night to take a good look at us. The brown head was cocked on one side thoughtfully; it was an attitude that expressed, with astonis

sked, with reticent dignity. "From Havre-from Trouville, par p'tit bateau!" called out lustily our

ffusion, such a zest of welcome, that we, our bags, and our coachman were on the instant toiling up a pair of spiral wooden stairs. There was quite a little crowd to fill the all-too-narrow landing at the top of the

ng key. Cours, mon enfant, it is

shape, sped down the rickety stairs with the step of youth and a dancer; for only the nimble ank

appears, with people made like that. Ah, tiens, here she comes. How could you keep ces dames waiting like this? It is shameful, shameful!" cried the woman, as she half shook the panting girl,

clean. There was the pale flicker of a sickly candle to illumine the s

as burnished as a jewel-a mass of sunny porcelain, and for carpet the satin of a wooden floor. There was much bustling to and fro. Shapes were constantly passing and repassing across the lighted interior. The Mère's broad-hipped figure was an omniscient presence: it hovered at one instant over a steaming saucepan, and the next was lifting a full milk-jug or opening a wine-bottle. Above the clatter of the dishes and t

who bore a sole au vin blanc, a bottle of white Burgundy, and a super-naturally ethereal soufflé. And an hour after,