Hortense looked around her. 'It's a fine evening,' said she; 'suppose you row me out to the lighthouse, and leave me at the point nearest the cemetery on our way back.' 'Very well,' rejoined the boatman; 'fifteen sous,' and began to pull lustily. '_Allez_, I'll pay you well,' said Madame. 'Fifteen sous is the fare,' insisted the man. 'Give me a pleasant row, and I'll give you a hundred,' said Hortense. Her companion said nothing. He evidently wished to appear not to have heard her remark. Silence was probably the most dignified manner of receiving a promise too munificent to be anything but a jest. For some time this silence was maintained, broken only by the trickling of the oars and the sounds from the neighboring shores and vessels. Madame Bernier was plunged in a sidelong scrutiny of her ferryman's countenance. He was a man of about thirty-five. His face was dogged, brutal, and sullen. These indications were perhaps exaggerated by the dull monotony of his exercise. The eyes lacked a certain rascally gleam which had appeared in them when he was so _empresse_ with the offer of his services. The face was better then--that is, if vice is better than ignorance. We say a countenance is 'lit up' by a smile; and indeed that momentary flicker does the office of a candle in a dark room. It sheds a ray upon the dim upholstery of our souls. The visages of poor men, generally, know few alternations. There is a large class of human beings whom fortune restricts to a single change of expression, or, perhaps, rather to a single expression. Ah me! the faces which wear either nakedness or rags; whose repose is stagnation, whose activity vice; ingorant at their worst, infamous at their best! 'Don't pull too hard,' said Hortense at last. 'Hadn't you better take breath a moment?' 'Madame is very good,' said the man, leaning upon his oars. 'But if you had taken me by the hour,' he added, with a return of the vicious grin, 'you wouldn't catch me loitering.' 'I suppose you work very hard,' said Madame Bernier. The man gave a little toss of his head, as if to intimate the inadequacy of any supposition to grasp the extent of his labors. 'I've been up since four o'clock this morning, wheeling bales and boxes on the quay, and plying my little boat. Sweating without five minutes' intermission. _C'est comme ca_. Sometimes I tell my mate I think I'll take a plunge in the basin to dry myself. Ha! ha! ha!' 'And of course you gain little,' said Madame Bernier. 'Worse than nothing. Just what will keep me fat enough for starvation to feed on.' 'How? you go without your necessary food?' 'Necessary is a very elastic word, madame. You can narrow it down, so that in the degree above nothing it means luxury. My necessary food is sometimes thin air. If I don't deprive myself of that, it's because I can't.' 'Is it possible to be so unfortunate?' 'Shall I tell you what I have eaten to-day?' 'Do,' said Madame Bernier.