In and Out of Three Normandy Inns | Page 2

from the first, evidently appealed to the French imagination; half
Havre was hanging over the stone wharves to see us start.
"Dame, only English women are up to that!"--for all the world is
English, in French eyes, when an adventurous folly is to be committed.

This was one view of our temerity; it was the comment of age and
experience of the world, of the cap with the short pipe in her mouth,
over which curved, downward, a bulbous, fiery-hued nose that met the
pipe.
"_C'est beau, tout de même_, when one is young--and rich." This was a
generous partisan, a girl with a miniature copy of her own round face--a
copy that was tied up in a shawl, very snug; it was a bundle that could
not possibly be in any one's way, even on a somewhat prolonged tour
of observation of Havre's shipping interests.
"And the blonde one--what do you think of her, _hein_?"
This was the blouse's query. The tassel of the cotton night-cap nodded,
interrogatively, toward the object on which the twinkling ex-mariner's
eye had fixed itself--on Charm's slender figure, and on the yellow
half-moon of hair framing her face. There was but one verdict
concerning the blonde beauty; she was a creature made to be stared at.
The staring was suspended only when the bargaining went on; for
Havre, clearly, was a sailor and merchant first; its knowledge of a
woman's good points was rated merely as its second-best talent.
Meanwhile, our bargaining for the sailboat was being conducted on the
principles peculiar to French traffic; it had all at once assumed the
aspect of dramatic complication. It had only been necessary for us to
stop on our lounging stroll along the stone wharves, diverting our gaze
for a moment from the grotesque assortment of old houses that, before
now, had looked down on so many naval engagements, and innocently
to ask a brief question of a nautical gentleman, picturesquely attired in
a blue shirt and a scarlet beret, for the quays immediately to swarm
with jerseys and red caps. Each beret was the owner of a boat; and each
jersey had a voice louder than his brother's. Presently the battle of
tongues was drowning all other sounds.
In point of fact, there were no other sounds to drown. All other
business along the quays was being temporarily suspended; the most
thrilling event of the day was centring in us and our treaty. Until this
bargain was closed, other matters could wait. For a Frenchman has the

true instinct of the dramatist; business he rightly considers as only an
_entr'acte_ in life; the serious thing is the scene de theatre, wherever it
takes place. Therefore it was that the black, shaky-looking houses,
leaning over the quays, were now populous with frowsy heads and
cotton nightcaps. The captains from the adjacent sloops and tug-boats
formed an outer circle about the closer ring made by the competitors
for our favors, while the loungers along the parapets, and the owners of
top seats on the shining quay steps, may be said to have been in
possession of orchestra stalls from the first rising of the curtain.
A baker's boy and two fish-wives, trundling their carts, stopped to
witness the last act of the play. Even the dogs beneath the carts, as they
sank, panting, to the ground, followed, with red-rimmed eyes, the
closing scenes of the little drama.
"Allons, let us end this," cried a piratical-looking captain, in a loud,
masterful voice. And he named a price lower than the others had bid.
He would take us across--yes, us and our luggage, and land us--yes, at
Villerville, for that.
The baker's boy gave a long, slow whistle, with relish.
"_Dame!_" he ejaculated, between his teeth, as he turned away.
The rival captains at first had drawn back; they had looked at their
comrade darkly, beneath their berets, as they might at a deserter with
whom they meant to deal--later on. But at his last words they smiled a
smile of grim humor. Beneath the beards a whisper grew; whatever its
import, it had the power to move all the hard mouths to laughter. As
they also turned away, their shrugging shoulders and the scorn in their
light laughter seemed to hand us over to our fate.
In the teeth of this smile, our captain had swung his boat round and we
were stepping into her.
"_Au revoir--au revoir et à bientôt!_"
The group that was left to hang over the parapets and to wave us its

farewell, was a thin one. Only the professional loungers took part in
this last act of courtesy. There was a cluster of caps, dazzlingly white
against the blue of the sky; a collection of highly decorated noses and
of old hands ribboned with wrinkles, to