Our little talkative companion had much to relate of herself and her husband, whom she described as a piece of perfection; he had just returned from a whaling expedition, after several years' absence, and they were now on their way to Lisieux to visit her relations, and give him a little shooting. He had brought back, according to her account, a mine of wealth; and, as she had incurred no debts during his absence, but had supported herself by opening a little _café_, which she assured us had succeeded admirably, they were proceeding, with well-filled purses, to see their only child who was in the keeping of its grandmother. She told wondrous histories of his exploits amongst the ice, of his encounters with the natives--"_les Indiens_," of the success of all his voyages, and the virtues of his captain, who was an Englishman and _never spoke to his crew_, but was the most just man in the world, and ended by saying that when she met with English people she felt _in Paradise_. Although we listened to her continued chattering with amused attention, it was far otherwise with some quiet, silent, women who sat beside us; we soon gathered, by certain contemptuous glances which they exchanged, that they did not give credit to half our little Dejazet was telling; and when to crown the whole, she related a story of a beautiful maiden of Lisieux, who had been distinguished by the notice of the Duke de _Nemours_ when he visited that place on his way to join _his ship_ at Havre, they could support their impatience no longer, and broadly contradicted her on the ground that the Prince de Joinville and _not_ Nemours was the sailor. Nothing daunted, our gay whaler's wife insisted on every part of her history being true, asserting that she must know best, and if the young prince had _left the navy_ since, it was not her affair.