As a rule Pauline and he returned to Paris to dine, and finish their day in some theatre. But at Denise's request, they decided to stay at Joinville all day; they would be able to have their fill of the country. So they stopped and wandered about the fields all the afternoon. They spoke for a moment of going for a row, but abandoned the idea; Baugé was not a good waterman. But they found themselves walking along the banks of the Marne, all the same, and were greatly interested by the life on the river, the squadrons of yawls and other boats, and the young men who formed the crews. The sun was going down, they were returning to Joinville, when they saw two boats coming down stream at a racing speed, exchanging volleys of insults, in which the repeated cries of “Sawbones!” and “Counter-jumpers!” dominated. “Hallo!” said Pauline, “it's Monsieur Hutin.” “Yes,” said Baugé, shading his face with his hand, “I recognise his mahogany boat. The other one is manned by students, no doubt.” And he explained the deadly hatred existing between the young students and the shopmen. Denise, on hearing Hutin's name mentioned, suddenly stopped, and followed, with fixed eyes, the frail skiff spinning along like an arrow. She tried to distinguish the young man among the rowers, but could only manage to make out the white dresses of two women, one of whom, who was steering, wore a red hat. Their voices were drowned by the rapid flow of the river. “Pitch 'em in, the sawbones!” “Duck 'em, the counter-jumpers!” In the evening they returned to the restaurant on the island. But it had turned too chilly, they were obliged to dine in one of the closed rooms, where the table-cloths were still damp from the humidity of the winter. After six o'clock the tables were all occupied, yet the excursionists still hurried in, looking for a corner; and the waiters continued to bring in more chairs and forms, putting the plates closer together, and crowding the people up. It was stifling, they had to open the windows. Outdoors, the day was waning, a greenish twilight fell from the poplars so quickly that the proprietor, unprepared for these meals under cover, and having no lamps, was obliged to put a wax candle on each table. The uproar became deafening with laughing, calling out, and the clacking of the table utensils; the candles flared and melted in the draught from the windows, whilst moths fluttered about in the air, warmed by the odour of the food, and traversed by sudden gusts of cold wind. “What fun they're having, eh?” said Pauline, very busy with a plate of matelote, which she declared extraordinary. She leant over to add: “Didn't you see Monsieur Albert over there?”