In and Out of Three Normandy Inns

r hands! All the beach assembles to see her land. When she is wet she cries for joy. It is so difficult to amuse one's self, it appears, in the great world."

"But, tiens, here we are, I feel the dry sands." I was dropped as lightly on them as if it had been indeed a bunch of feathers my fisherman had been carrying.

And meanwhile, out yonder, across the billows, with airy gesture dramatically executed, our treacherous captain was waving us a theatrical salute. The infant mate was grinning like a gargoyle. They were both delightfully unconscious, apparently, of any event having transpired, during the afternoon's pleasuring, which could possibly tinge the moment of parting with the hues of regret.

"Pour les bagages, mesdames--"

Two dripping, outstretched hands, two berets doffed, two picturesque giants bowing low, with a Frenchman's grace--this, on the Trouville sands, was the last act of this little comedy of our landing on the coast of France.