"I have sprained my ankle," he explained to them in their native tongue. "Please assist me to rise, and I will try to walk."
But when they took him by the arms and raised him up, they found that it was impossible for him to walk.
"This is a deuced bore at the present time, certainly," complained the sufferer. "Can you get me any kind of a trap to drive me back to the village yonder?"
The peasants looked at him stupidly, and informed him carelessly that there was nothing of the kind available. Only one man in the vicinity owned a horse, and it had sickened and died a week before.
Howard felt a great and exceeding temptation to swear a very small oath at this crisis, but being too much of a gentleman to yield to this wicked whisper of the evil one, groaned very loudly instead.
"Then what the deuce am I to do?" he inquired, as much of himself as of the two fishermen. "How am I to get away from this spot of wet sand? Where am I to go?"
The peasants scrutinized him as stupidly as before, and to all of these questions answered flatly that they did not know, indeed.
Howard thought within himself that the proverbial politeness of the French was greatly tempered by stupidity in this case.
"Well, then," he inquired next, "is there any kind of a hotel around here?"
"Yes, there was such a place," they informed him, readily; and Howard at once begged them to summon aid and construct a litter for him, promising to reward them liberally if they would carry him to the hotel.