Short blue blouse, little cap and flat-bottomed boat, the appearance of the figure at that hour made one with the drifting mists and rural strangeness of the landscape, and Chrysler knew it was Le Brun, and remarked so to Haviland.
"Without doubt, Bonhomme is part of nature and unmistakable—Hola
Bonhomme!"
"Mo-o-o-o-nseigneur," he sung in reply, without looking up or taking further notice of them.
Haviland gave a few more vigorous strokes.
"How does it bite, Bonhomme?"
"A little badly, monseigneur; all perch here; one pickerel. Shall we enter the little channels?"
"I do not wish to enter the little channels: I remain here."
They were soon fishing beside him, Chamilly at one end of the skiff intent upon his sport. The old man's flat punt was littered with perch. How early he must have risen! He was small of figure, weathered of face, simple and impassive of manner.
"Good day," Chrysler opened; "the weather is wettish."
"It is morningy, Monsieur."—