We looked round. To the west the vineyards extended to the horizon their long peaceful lines. On the hill smoke came out of a chimney near a steeple. On the other side, the Saone, veiled by a light mist, lost itself slowly in the calm running of her flowing waters. The shadows of the poplars elongated themselves on the banks. The shrill cry of a bird pierced the deep silence. “Where are we?” asked M. d’Anquetil. “At two full leagues from Tournus,” replied the postillion, spitting blood, “and at least four leagues from Mâcon.” And, extending his arm towards the smoking chimney: “Up there, that village ought to be Vallars, but it’s not up to much.” “Blast you!” roared M. d’Anquetil. While the horses struggled we went near the carriage, which was lying sadly on its side. The little postboy who had been taken out from the midst of the horses said: “As to the spring, that could be mended by a strong piece of wood. It will only make the carriage shake you more. But there is the broken wheel! And, worst of all, my hat is under it, smashed to pieces.” “Damn your hat!” said M. d’Anquetil. “Your lordship may not be aware that it was quite new,” was the postboy’s meek reply. “And the window glasses are broken!” sighed Jahel, seated on a portmanteau, at the side of the road. “If it were but the glasses,” said M. Coignard, “a remedy could soon be found by lowering the blinds, but the bottles cannot be in the same state as the windows. I must look to it as soon as the coach can be raised. I am also in fear for my Boethius, which I had placed under the cushions with some other good books.” “It does not matter,” said M. d’Anquetil. “I have the cards in my waistcoat pocket. But shall we not get any supper?” “I had thought of it,” said the abbé. “It is not in vain that God has given to the use of men the animals who crowd the earth, the sky and the water. I am an excellent angler; the care necessary to allure the fish particularly suits my meditative mind, and the River Orne has seen me managing my line while meditating on the eternal verities. Do not trouble over your supper. If Mademoiselle Jahel will be good enough to give me one of the pins which keep her garments together I’ll soon make a hook of it, to enable me to fish in yonder river, and I flatter myself I shall return before nightfall laden with two or three carp, that we will grill over a brushwood fire.” “I am quite aware,” said Jahel, “that we are reduced to somewhat of a savage state. But I could not give you a pin, abbé, without your giving me something in exchange for it; otherwise our friendship would be jeopardised. And that I do not want in any case.” “Then I will make an advantageous exchange, mademoiselle: I’ll pay for your pin with a kiss.” And, taking the pin out of Jahel’s hand, he kissed her on both cheeks with inconceivable courtesy, gracefulness and decency.