shower and so sharp a one that in spite of the umbrellas, the ladies'
dresses began to get wet. Madame Lorilleux, her heart sinking within
her each time a drop fell upon her black silk, proposed that they should
shelter themselves under the Pont-Royal; besides if the others did not
accompany her, she threatened to go all by herself. And the procession
marched under one of the arches of the bridge. They were very
comfortable there. It was, most decidedly a capital idea! The ladies,
spreading their handkerchiefs over the paving-stones, sat down with
their knees wide apart, and pulled out the blades of grass that grew
between the stones with both hands, whilst they watched the dark flowing
water as though they were in the country. The men amused themselves with
calling out very loud, so as to awaken the echoes of the arch. Boche and
Bibi-the-Smoker shouted insults into the air at the top of their voices,
one after the other. They laughed uproariously when the echo threw the
insults back at them. When their throats were hoarse from shouting, they
made a game of skipping flat stones on the surface of the Seine.

The shower had ceased but the whole party felt so comfortable that no
one thought of moving away. The Seine was flowing by, an oily sheet
carrying bottle corks, vegetable peelings, and other refuse that
sometimes collected in temporary whirlpools moving along with the
turbulent water. Endless traffic rumbled on the bridge overhead, the
noisy bustle of Paris, of which they could glimpse only the rooftops to
the left and right, as though they were in the bottom of a deep pit.

Mademoiselle Remanjou sighed; if the leaves had been out this would have
reminded her of a bend of the Marne where she used to go with a young
man. It still made her cry to think of him.

At last, Monsieur Madinier gave the signal for departure. They passed