“Doesn't he look fine, altogether French?” she said.
Rosaline turned away without answering. A little later she picked up the perch and carried the parrot, that swayed sleepily on the crosspiece, down the ladder.
“Les bourgeois a la lanterne, nom de dieu!” came the old man's voice singing on the shore.
“He's drunk as a pig,” muttered the old woman. “If only he doesn't fall off the gang plank.”
A swaying shadow appeared at the end of the plank, standing out against the haze of light from the houses behind the poplar trees.
Andrews put out a hand to catch him, as he reached the side of the barge. The old man sprawled against the cabin.
“Don't bawl me out, dearie,” he said, dangling an arm round Andrews's neck, and a hand beckoning vaguely towards his wife.
“I've found a comrade for the little American.”
“What's that?” said Andrews sharply. His mouth suddenly went dry with terror. He felt his nails pressing into the palms of his cold-hands.
“I've found another American for you,” said the old man in an important voice. “Here he comes.” Another shadow appeared at the end of the gangplank.