That night the travellers slept in Gien; the next day they passed the river and set forth (severally, as their custom was) on a short stage through the green plain upon the Berry side, to Chatillon-sur-Loire. It was the first day of the shooting; and the air rang with the report of fire-arms and the admiring cries of sportsmen. Overhead the birds were in consternation, wheeling in clouds, settling and re-arising. And yet with all this bustle on either hand, the road itself lay solitary. The _Arethusa_ smoked a pipe beside a milestone, and I remember he laid down very exactly all he was to do at Chatillon: how he was to enjoy a cold plunge, to change his shirt, and to await the _Cigarette's_ arrival, in sublime inaction, by the margin of the Loire. Fired by these ideas, he pushed the more rapidly forward, and came, early in the afternoon, and in a breathing heat, to the entering-in of that ill-fated town. Childe Roland to the dark tower came. A polite gendarme threw his shadow on the path. "_Monsieur est voyageur_?" he asked. And the _Arethusa_, strong in his innocence, forgetful of his vile attire, replied--I had almost said with gaiety: "So it would appear." "His papers are in order?" said the gendarme. And when the _Arethusa_, with a slight change of voice, admitted he had none, he was informed (politely enough) that he must appear before the Commissary. The Commissary sat at a table in his bedroom, stripped to the shirt and trousers, but still copiously perspiring; and when he turned upon the prisoner a large meaningless countenance, that was (like Bardolph's) "all whelks and bubuckles," the dullest might have been prepared for grief. Here was a stupid man, sleepy with the heat and fretful at the interruption, whom neither appeal nor argument could reach. _The Commissary:_ "You have no papers?" _The Arethusa:_ "Not here." _The Commissary:_ "Why?" _The Arethusa:_ "I have left them behind in my valise." _The Commissary:_ "You know, however, that it is forbidden to circulate without papers?" _The Arethusa:_ "Pardon me: I am convinced of the contrary. I am here on my rights as an English subject by international treaty." _The Commissary (with scorn):_ "You call yourself an Englishman?" _The Arethusa:_ "I do." _The Commissary:_ "Humph.--What is your trade?" _The Arethusa:_ "I am a Scottish Advocate." _The Commissary (with singular annoyance):_ "A Scottish Advocate! Do you then pretend to support yourself by that in this Department?" The _Arethusa_ modestly disclaimed the pretension. The Commissary had scored a point. _The Commissary:_ "Why, then, do you travel?" _The Arethusa:_ "I travel for pleasure." _The Commissary (pointing to the knapsack, and with sublime incredulity):_ "_Avec ca? Voyez-vous, je suis un homme intelligent!_" (With that? Look here, I am a person of intelligence!)