When I first saw her, Madame Baudière was stepping out of the narrow doorway of her bait shop and calling lustily to her garçon André, who had reached the shore of a feathery green island just opposite, and who upon hearing madame’s voice turned his boat about and bent his broad back to his oars in haste to return.
“Dépêchez-vous!” cried madame, as he drew nearer. “Monsieur wishes the big boat.”
“Bien, madame, tout de suite,” answered André, plunging the clumsy blades into the glassy river which swings along past the island and glides peacefully on its way down to Normandy and the sea.
Photo by F. Berkeley Smith
THE ESTURGEON
Opposite the inn, shored up against the piers of an ancient stone bridge, framed in a clump of towering poplars, stands a cardboard box of a house, its sides painted in imitation of brick. It looks like a toy from which one could lift the gabled roof and find chocolates and marrons in layers within.
Photo by F. Berkeley Smith