The steamer was crowded with people and the crossing promised to be
good. I was going from Havre to Trouville.
The ropes were thrown off, the whistle blew for the last time, the whole
boat started to tremble, and the great wheels began to revolve, slowly
at first, and then with ever-increasing rapidity.
We were gliding along the pier, black with people. Those on board were
waving their handkerchiefs, as though they were leaving for America, and
their friends on shore were answering in the same manner.
The big July sun was shining down on the red parasols, the light
dresses, the joyous faces and on the ocean, barely stirred by a ripple.
When we were out of the harbor, the little vessel swung round the big
curve and pointed her nose toward the distant shore which was barely
visible through the early morning mist. On our left was the broad
estuary of the Seine, her muddy water, which never mingles with that
of the ocean, making large yellow streaks clearly outlined against the
immense sheet of the pure green sea.
As soon as I am on a boat I feel the need of walking to and fro, like a
sailor on watch. Why? I do not know. Therefore I began to thread my way
along the deck through the crowd of travellers. Suddenly I heard my name
called. I turned around. I beheld one of my old friends, Henri Sidoine,
whom I had not seen for ten years.
We shook hands and continued our walk together, talking of one thing
or another. Suddenly Sidoine, who had been observing the crowd of
passengers, cried out angrily:
“It's disgusting, the boat is full of English people!”
It was indeed full of them. The men were standing about, looking over
the ocean with an all-important air, as though to say: “We are the
English, the lords of the sea! Here we are!”
The young girls, formless, with shoes which reminded one of the naval
constructions of their fatherland, wrapped in multi-colored shawls, were
smiling vacantly at the magnificent scenery. Their small heads, planted
at the top of their long bodies, wore English hats of the strangest
build.
And the old maids, thinner yet, opening their characteristic jaws to the
wind, seemed to threaten one with their long, yellow teeth. On passing
them, one could notice the smell of rubber and of tooth wash.
Sidoine repeated, with growing anger:
“Disgusting! Can we never stop their coming to France?”