repose—and so deep a hush was on the sea, that it scarcely whispered of the time when it shall give up its dead.     

  

  

       CHAPTER 2 Fellow Travellers     

N o more of yesterday’s howling over yonder to-day, Sir; is there?’      

N

       ‘I have heard none.’      

       ‘Then you may be sure there is none. When these people howl, they howl to be heard.’      

       ‘Most people do, I suppose.’      

       ‘Ah! but these people are always howling. Never happy otherwise.’      

       ‘Do you mean the Marseilles people?’      

       ‘I mean the French people. They’re always at it. As to Marseilles, we know what Marseilles is. It sent the most insurrectionary tune into the world that was ever composed. It couldn’t exist without allonging and marshonging to something or other—victory or death, or blazes, or something.’      

       The speaker, with a whimsical good humour upon him all the time, looked over the parapet-wall with the greatest disparagement of Marseilles; and taking up a determined position by putting his hands in his pockets and rattling his money at it, apostrophised it with a short laugh.     

       ‘Allong and marshong, indeed. It would be more creditable to you, I think, to let other people allong and marshong about their lawful business, instead of shutting ‘em up in quarantine!’      

       ‘Tiresome enough,’ said the other. ‘But we shall be out to-day.’      

       ‘Out to-day!’ repeated the first. ‘It’s almost an aggravation of the enormity, that we shall be out to-day. Out! What have we ever been in for?’      

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