Every Sunday before the war Morisot used to start at daybreak with his bamboo fishing rod in his hand, his tin bait and tackle box upon his back. He used to take the train to Colombes, and to walk from there to the Island of Maranthe. No sooner had he arrived at the river than he used to begin to fish and continue fishing until evening. Here every Sunday he used to meet Monsieur Sauvage, a linen-draper from Paris, but stout and jovial withal, as keen a fisherman moreover as he was himself. Often they would sit side by side, their feet dangling over the water for half a day at a time and say scarcely a word, yet little by little they became friends. Sometimes they never spoke at all. Occasionally they launched out into conversation, but they understood each other perfectly without its aid, for their tastes and ideas were the same. On a spring morning in the bright sunshine, when the light and delicate mist hovered over the river, and these two mad fishermen enjoyed a foretaste of real summer weather, Morisot would say to his neighbour: "Hein! not bad, eh?" And Sauvage would reply: "I know nothing to beat it." This interchange of sentiments was quite enough to engender mutual understanding and esteem. In autumn, toward evening, when the setting sun reddened the sky and cast shadows of the fleeting clouds over the water; when the river was decked in purple; when the whole horizon was lighted up and the figures of the two friends were illumined as with fire; when the russet-brown of the trees was lightly tinged with gold, and the trees themselves shivered with a wintry shake, Monsieur Sauvage would smile at Monsieur Morisot and say, "What a sight, eh?" And Monsieur Morisot, without even raising his eyes from his float would answer, "Better than the Boulevards, hein!" This morning, as soon as they had recognised each other they shook hands warmly, quite overcome at meeting again under such different circumstances. Monsieur Sauvage sighed and murmured, "A nice state of things." Monsieur Morisot, gloomy and sad, answered, "And what weather! To-day is New Year's day." The sky in fact was clear, bright, and beautiful. They began to walk along, sorrowful and pensive. Said Morisot, "And our fishing, eh? What times we used to have!" Sauvage replied, "When shall we have them again?" They went into a little "café" and had a glass of absinthe, and then started again on their walk. They stopped at another "café" for another glass. When they came out again they were slightly dazed, like people who had fasted long and then partaken too freely. It was lovely weather; a soft breeze fanned their faces. Monsieur Sauvage, upon whom the fresh air was beginning to take effect, suddenly said: "Suppose we were to go!" "Go where?" "Why, fishing!" "But where?" "To our island, of course. The French outposts are at Colombes. I know Colonel Dumoulin; he will let us pass through easily enough." [Illustration: "THEY WENT ON THEIR WAY REJOICING."]