It was past meridian, on one of those days of moderate exertion, that François was seen stealing from below, and staggering from gun to gun, to a place in the centre of the ship, where he habitually took the air, in good weather, and where he might dispose of his person, equally without presuming too far on the good-nature of his superiors, and without courting too much intimacy with the coarser herd who composed the common crew. “Ah!” exclaimed the valet, addressing his remark to the midshipman who has already been mentioned by the name of Hopper—“Voilà la terre! Quel bonheur! I shall be so happy—le batiment be trop agréable, mais vous savez, Monsieur Aspirant; que je ne suis point marin—What be le nom du pays?” “They call it, France,” returned the boy, who understood enough of the other’s language to comprehend his meaning; “and a very good country it is—for those that like it.” “Ma foi, non!”—exclaimed François, recoiling a pace, between amazement and delight. “Call it Holland, then, if you prefer that country most.” “Dites-moi, Monsieur Hoppair,” continued the valet, laying a trembling finger on the arm of the remorseless young rogue; “est-ce la France?” “One would think a man of your observation could tell that for himself. Do you not see the church-tower, with a château in the background, and a village built in a heap, by its side. Now look into yon wood! There is a walk, straight as a ship’s wake in smooth water, and one—two—three—aye, eleven statues, with just one nose among them all!” “Ma foi—dere is not no wood, and no château and no village, and no statue, and no no nose,—mais Monsieur, je suis agé—est-ce la France?” “Oh, you miss nothing by having an indifferent sight, for I shall explain it all, as we go along. You see yonder hill-side, looking like a pattern-card, of green and yellow stripes, or a signal-book, with the flags of all nations, placed side by side—well, that is—les champs; and this beautiful wood, with all the branches trimmed till it looks like so many raw marines at drill, is—la forêt——” The credulity of the warm-hearted valet could swallow no more; but, assuming a look of commiseration and dignity, he drew back, and left the young tyro of the sea to enjoy his joke with a companion who just then joined him.