All this came
in due time, but to-day we were still dignified.
We passed without the walls and went down the quay. All our surroundings
were gay and brilliant. Everything was life and movement, the life and
movement of a Continental town. The "gentle gales" wooed the trees, and
the trees made music in the air. The sun shone as it can only shine out
of England. The sky, wearing its purest blue, was flecked with white
clouds pure as angels' wings. The boat we had recently left was
discharging cargo, and her steam was quietly dying down.
Four old women--each must have been eighty, at least--were seated on a
bench, knitting and smiling and looking as placid and contented as if
the world and the sunshine had been made for them alone, and it was
their duty to enjoy it to the utmost. It was impossible to sketch them:
Time and Tide wait for no man, and even now the whistle of the Dinard
boat might be heard shrieking its impatient warning round the corner:
but we took the old women with an instantaneous camera, and with
wonderful result. It was all over before they had time to pose and put
on expressions; and when they found they had been photographed, they
thought it the great event of their lives. The mere fact is sufficient
with these good folk; possession of the likeness is a very secondary
consideration. We left them crooning and laughing and casting admiring
glances after H.
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