"Captain," I said, "I believe you would give very great pleasure to your passengers--to two, at least, among them--if you ordered lunch to be served on deck." "Why so?" "Because over there is a young wife who desires to take in every bit of France she can before she leaves it, which she cannot do if she is on the between-decks." "It would be easy enough," said the captain, "for I only have five passengers at my table." "Then you agree?" "I agree." We were now off Saint-Nazaire, which rises sadly out of sand and heather, with not even a tree to rest the eye. But the young woman's gaze hugged the bare landscape with as much eagerness as though she were looking upon some Swiss meadow or Scotch loch. "Madame," I said to her, "I have come from the captain to tell you luncheon is ready." "Oh! I cannot eat anything," she replied. "Allow me, madame, to tell you that I am certain of the contrary." She shook her head. "Seeing," I continued, "that we are not going to have luncheon between-decks but here on deck." "You asked the captain to do that!" she exclaimed, with as much fervour as though I had realised a desire which she had not even dared to let herself dwell upon. "Why, yes, I did!" I answered, laughing. "Oh!" she said, turning to her husband, "how good monsieur is, dear!" "Upon my word," he said, "you should be most grateful to him; I had not even thought of such a thing." How is it that even the most devotedly loving husbands, even those just married, never think of things that strangers do? I leave this reflection to the wisdom of any psychologists who may chance to peruse this book.