"Life is a journey like that of the bark. It has its bad, its good days.
The wise man, when the waves smile, ought to know how to behave; in the
breakers he must go slow. But man is born for toil, for navigation. He
who rows gets his pay at the end of the month. He who is afraid of
blistering his hands takes a dive into the abyss of poverty." He tells a
story of Napoleon in flight down the Rhone, of the women who cried out
at him, reviling him, bidding him give back their sons, shaking their
fists and crying out, "Into the Rhone with him." Once when he was
changing horses at an inn, a woman, bleeding a fowl at the door,
exclaimed: "Ha, the cursed monster! If I had him here, I'd plant my
knife into his throat like that!" The emperor, unknown to her, draws
near. "What did he do to you?" said he. "I had two sons," replied the
bereaved mother wrathfully, "two handsome boys, tall as towers. He
killed them for me in his battles."--"Their names will not perish in the
stars," said Napoleon sadly. "Why could I not fall like them? for they
died for their country on the field of glory."--"But who are you?"--"I
am the emperor."--"Ah!" The good woman fell upon her knees dismayed,
kissed his hands, begged his forgiveness, and all in tears--Here the
story is interrupted.

Wholly charming and altogether original is the tale of the little maiden
whom the boatmen name L'Anglore, and whom Jean Roche loves. The men have
named her so for fun. They knew her well, having seen her from earliest
childhood, half naked, paddling in the water along the shore, sunning
herself like the little lizard they call _anglore_. Now she had grown,
and eked out a poor living by seeking for gold in the sands brought down
by the Ardèche.

The little maid believed in the story of the Drac, a sort of merman,
that lived in the Rhone, and had power to fascinate the women who