_All_ the cargo of the trawlers is sold before they arrive to the marieurs (men who deal exclusively in fish), and who have a contract with the big boats. There is no possibility of having a good fish except at the Halles, where one can sometimes get some from one of the smaller boats, which fish on their own account and have no contract; but even those are generally sold at once to small dealers, who send them off to the neighbouring inland towns. In fact, the proprietor of one of the big hotels told me he had to get his fish from Paris and paid Paris prices. The fishwives, the young ones particularly, are a fine-looking lot--tall, straight, with feet and legs bare, a little white cap or woollen fichu on their heads--they carry off their heavy baskets as lightly as possible, taking them to the Halles where all the fish must go. They are quite a feature of Boulogne, the young fishwives. One sees them often at low tide--fishing for shrimps, carrying their heavy nets on their shoulders and flat baskets strapped on their backs into which they tip the fish very cleverly. They are quite distinct from the Boulonaises matelottes, who are a step higher in the social scale. _They_ always wear a wonderful white cap with a high starched frill which stands out around their faces like an auréole. They, too, wear short full skirts, but have long stockings and very good stout _shoes_--not sabots--which are also disappearing. They turn out very well on Sundays. I saw a lot of them the other day coming out of church--all with their caps scrupulously clean--short, full, black or brown skirts; aprons ironed in a curious way--_across_ the apron--making little waves (our maids couldn't think what had happened to their white aprons the first time they came back from the wash--thought there had been some mistake and they had some one's else clothes--they had to explain to the washerwoman that they liked their aprons ironed straight); long gold earrings and gold chains. They are handsome women, dark with straight features, a serious look in their eyes. Certainly people who live by the sea have a different expression--there is something grave, almost sad in their faces, which one doesn't see in dwellers in sunny meadows and woodlands.