Just then, somebody touched her shoulder. It was a stranger, from Paris, perhaps. This seemed probable from the haughty air, which people from the city always have, and also from his cold, harsh look and his pale countenance.
Jeanne was frightened.
"I want a boat," said this strange person, "to go out into the offing." Jacques approached. "If you like, sir, I am ready. Here, Fanor!"
"What! take that brute along with us? Horrid cur! He is filthy and smells of old fish. I can't bear him for a companion."
"I will not go without my dog," said Jacques.
"Come!" said the stranger, "this beast is of no use. I will give you a louis to leave the dog." Jacque looked at his wife hesitatingly. Jeanne was pale. The stranger tossed the louis in his hand.
Just then Ange cried, "My shoe has gone to the bottom!" And Jeanne said, "Don't go without the dog."
Soon the Fine-Anguille left the shore, and, breaking through the rosy water, disappeared in the distance, like a faint cloud.
Jeanne turned again toward the house, carrying her child, whose little foot hung bare over her dress.
When she reached the heights, she turned to scan the horizon. She saw a thick gray band stretched along it. Seized with anxious foreboding, she paused.