The story of Bougainville and the curé of Boulogne is a popular one in the French navy, and, as you see, the captain answered me just as a communicant answers a question on the Catechism. Now, as it is quite possible that my reader may not be a sailor, and that ladies, in particular, may be quite unacquainted with the legend to which I have just referred, I will tell in as few words as possible the story of Bougainville and the curé of Boulogne. Then we will return to our two Paulines. [1] See _le curé de Boulogne_, p. 59 of vol. ii. of _Bric-à-Brac._ CHAPTER X { Story of Bougainville and his friend the curé of Boulogne On 14 November of the year 1766, an open carriage, drawn by post-horses, containing three naval officers, one seated on the front seat and the other two on the back one,--which signified a decided difference in their rank,--was driving along the _Bois de Boulogne_, coming from the _barrière de l'Étoile>_ and going towards the _Avenue de Saint-Cloud._ By the _Château de la Muette_ it passed a priest who was walking slowly along in one of the side-walks reading his breviary. "Hi! postillion!" shouted the officer sitting at the back of the carriage; "stop a moment, please." The postillion stopped. This request, given in a loud voice, and the noise the postillion made pulling up his horses, naturally led to the priest raising his head and fixing his eyes on the carriage and its three occupants. "Pardieu! I am not mistaken," said the officer sitting behind; "it is really you, my dear Rémy!" The priest gazed in astonishment. However, his face gradually cleared as light dawned on him, and his lips turned from amazement to smiles. "Ah!" he said at length, "it is you!" "Why _you_ (_vous_)?" "It is thou (_toi_) then, Antoine." "Yes, it is I, Antoine de Bougainville." "Mon Dieu! What have you been doing with yourself during the twenty-five years since we parted?" "What have I been doing with myself, dear friend?" repeated Bougainville. "Come and sit down by me a few minutes and I will tell you." "But ..." The priest looked round him uneasily, as though he were afraid to go far away from his home, Bougainville understood his fear. "Do not be anxious; we will go at a walking pace," he replied. A valet got down from the seat behind and lowered the step. "It is a quarter past eleven," said the priest, "and Marianne expects me for dinner at twelve." "In the first place--where do you live? But sit down, though!" He lightly drew the priest by his gown, and the priest sat down. "Where do I live?" asked the latter. "Yes." "At Boulogne.... I am curé of Boulogne, friend." "Ah! ah! I offer you my congratulations; you always had the vocation." "So, you see, I entered Orders." "Are you satisfied?" "Enchanted, my friend! The curé of Boulogne is not one of the best: it only has an income of eight hundred livres; but my tastes are modest, and there still remain four hundred livres over to give away to the poor."