[Illustration: HARBOR OF ROUEN.] [Sidenote: TIBBITTS WRITES A STORY.] Throughout the entire city the prevailing style of architecture is Gothic--the Palais de Justice being in late Gothic, and is a very handsome building. The residences, for the most part, are large and beautiful, surrounded by well-kept lawns and adorned with flower beds and fountains. Rouen is a very important cotton manufacturing place, and is one of the principal depots for the wines of Bordeaux. It is a commercial center, too, the Seine affording a good harbor for large ocean steamers, most of which are in the Mediterranean trade. When we returned we found Tibbitts sitting in the arbor, with a pile of manuscript before him, and we asked what he had been doing. "I promised the old gentleman," he said, "to learn the languages of the countries I passed through, and I shall do it. I shall learn French, some afternoon when I get time. And he requested me to practice writing things for general improvement. As I am in France I have written mother a letter, and I have enclosed in it a part of a chapter of a story, into which I have jerked a lot of French to show her that I have not wasted my time. Here it is, and I think it's devilish good!" This was Tibbitts' part of a chapter of a story:-- "Precisely at the stroke of seven the Count was upon the ground, and the clock had not ceased to sound the hour before the Marquis appeared. Both threw off their outer clothing, and stood in their shirts, sword in hand." "It's an account of a French Duel," explained Tibbitts. "_Fromage!_" hissed the Count, between his clenched teeth. "_Fromage Gratin!_" echoed the Marquis. The swords crossed with an angry clang. It was a supreme moment. The two men glared at each other, each fearing to hazard a movement. Finally, tired of inaction, the Count took the offensive. His rapier flashed like lightning. With an adroit _mouton_, he well nigh succeeded in breaking his enemy's guard, indeed he would have done it but for the skill with which a _marrons glacê_ was interposed. Both pause a moment for breath. Breath is necessary to a duelist. The Marquis was the first assailant. He delivered a fierce _cotellette de veau_, which had stretched many a tall fellow on the sod, followed by a _mayonnaise_, of which few are the master, but gnashed his teeth to find himself stopped by a _poulet a la Paris_. They paused again. "I see you have advantaged by practice with Vol au Vent," said the Marquis. (Vol au Vent was the most celebrated swordsman of Paris.) "He taught you the lunge--I invented the parry. We will resume." They eyed each other closely. "This time I will finish him," said the Count to himself. Using the _pomme de terre_ as a feint, he threw himself with all his force into a _patè_, and would have ended the contest then and there, but that the Marquis avoided the thrust by a _poisson_. [Illustration: ST. OUEN--ROUEN.]