“Staring you in the face; can’t you see him?”.
Upon my word, I could see nobody, until he directed my gaze with his fishing-rod, when I perceived, ten yards away, a large back view of white trousers and brown, unbuckled waistcoat, a straw hat which seemed to conceal a head, and a pair of shirt-sleeves hanging over the water.
This mass was motionless.
“He must have got a bite,” said Jupille, “else he would have been here before now. Go and see him.”
Not knowing whom I was about to address, I gave a warning cough as I came near him.
The unknown drew a loud breath, like a man who wakes with a start.
“That you, Jupille?” he said, turning a little way; “are you out of bait?”
“No, my dear tutor, it is I.”
“Monsieur Mouillard, at last!”
“Monsieur Flamaran! Jupille told the truth when he said I should be surprised. Are you fond of fishing?”