Bougainville made a sign; the twelve oars fell and hit the water with so regular a movement that they seemed to strike it as one man. The gig flew over the sea like those long-legged water-spiders which glide over water. In less than ten minutes they were alongside. It hardly need he said that the maritime wonder called a frigate roused the enthusiasm of the good Abbé Rémy to the highest pitch; he asked Bougainville the name of each mast, of each yard and of each rope. No sails were set, but they were hanging in brails. In the middle of the naming of the different parts of the ship, a messenger came to tell the captain that dinner was served. The abbé and he went down into the captain's cabin. This cabin might have vied with any drawing-room belonging to one of the richest châteaux round Paris in comfort and elegance. The abbé's surprise increased more and more. Fortunately, although it was 15 November, the sea was all ablaze; it was one of those beautiful autumn days, which seem like a farewell sent to the earth by the summer sun before its disappearance for six months. The Abbé Rémy was not in the least seasick, upon which fact the superior officers admitted to the captain's table, and the captain himself, offered their congratulations. However, towards the middle of dinner it seemed to him as though the motion of the frigate was increasing; Bougainville replied that it was the ebb tide, and delivered a learned lecture on tides. The Abbé Rémy listened to his friend's scientific dissertation with the greatest animation and attention; and, as he was not unacquainted with physical science, he made observations in his turn which seemed to call forth the delighted admiration of the officers. The dinner was protracted longer than the diners themselves realised; nothing is so deceptive as to the passing of time as interesting conversation, enlivened with good wine. Then came coffee, that sweet nectar for which the abbé confessed a weakness. Captain Bougainville's coffee was such a cunning and happy mixture of Mocha and Martinique, that, when he was imbibing it, in small sips, the abbé declared he had never tasted its equal. Then, after the coffee, came liqueurs, those famous liqueurs de Madame Anfoux which were the delight of the gourmets of the latter part of the last century. Finally, when the liqueurs had been enjoyed, and the Abbé Rémy proposed to go back to the deck, Bougainville raised no opposition to this desire; but he was obliged to give his arm to his friend up the companion, the abbé naïvely attributing his instability of balance to the champagne, Mocha coffee and liqueurs de Madame Anfoux which he had drunk. The frigate was on the larboard tack, with her head to the north-east, and the wind blowing free; all sail was set, including lower and top-gallant studding sails. Only the stay-sails were stowed. They must have been going at eleven knots an hour!