"Captain," I said, "I believe you would give very great pleasure to your passengers—to two, at least, among them—if you ordered lunch to be served on deck."
"Why so?"
"Because over there is a young wife who desires to take in every bit of France she can before she leaves it, which she cannot do if she is on the between-decks."
"It would be easy enough," said the captain, "for I only have five passengers at my table."
"Then you agree?"
"I agree."
We were now off Saint-Nazaire, which rises sadly out of sand and heather, with not even a tree to rest the eye. But the young woman's gaze hugged the bare landscape with as much eagerness as though she were looking upon some Swiss meadow or Scotch loch.
"Madame," I said to her, "I have come from the captain to tell you luncheon is ready."
"Oh! I cannot eat anything," she replied.