Breakfast on deck—Saint-Nazaire—A thing husbands never think of—Noirmontiers—Belle-Ile—I leave the two Paulines—The rope-ladder—The ship's boat—A total immersion—The inn at Saint-Nazaire—I throw money through the window—A batch of clothes—Return to Paris
While these manœuvres were being put into execution, I rejoined our young married couple.
"Well, monsieur," said the bride to me, "the moment has come for you to return to land and to leave us."
"Not yet, madame," I said.
She fixed her gaze on me.
"Not yet?" she repeated.
"No, madame; I have obtained permission from the captain not to leave you till the very last minute.... I am to lunch with you, and we shall still have several long hours to spend talking of France."
"Thank you, monsieur," the husband replied.
But now everybody who had come on board, either for business matters or for affairs of the heart, bade their adieux, got down into the boats, and went away from the ship. The anchor was drawn out of the water and catted, and la Pauline began to obey the motion of the outgoing tide and the breeze. Slight as the movement was, it was enough to bring on a fresh paroxysm of grief in the case of the bride. I went back to the captain.