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So the price was agreed upon, and the hat, now with a decided metallic sheen, once more swept the cobblestones of the courtyard. The ceremony being over, its owner then drew off the green kid gloves, folded them flat on his knee, guided them into the inside pocket of the brown coat with the assorted bindings as carefully as if they had been his letter of credit, and declared himself at our service.

It was when he had been installed as custodian not only of our hand luggage, but to a certain extent of our bank accounts and persons for some days, that he urged upon the governor the advisability of our at once proceeding to Cancale, or Cancale speciale, as he insisted on calling it. I immediately added my own voice to his pleadings, arguing that Cancale must certainly be on the sea. That, from my recollection of numerous water-colors and black-and-whites labeled in the catalogue, “Coast near Cancale,” and the like, I was sure there must be the customary fish-girls, with shrimp-nets carried gracefully over one shoulder, to say nothing of brawny-chested fishermen with flat, rimless caps, having the usual little round button on top.

The governor, however, was obdurate. He had a way of being obdurate when anything irritated him, and Baeader began to be one of these things. Cancale might be all very well for me, but how about the hotel for him, who had nothing to do, no pictures to paint? He had passed that time in his life when he could sleep under a boat with water pouring down the back of his neck through a tarpaulin full of holes.

“The hotel, messieurs! Imagine! Is it posseeble that monsieur imagine for one moment that Baeader would arrange such annoyances? I remember ze hotel quite easily. It is not like, of course, ze Grand Hotel of Paris, but it is simple, clean, ze cuisine superb, and ze apartment fine and hospitable. Remembare it is Baeader.”

“And the baths?” broke out the governor savagely.

Baeader’s face was a study; a pained, deprecating expression passed over it as he uncovered his head, his glazed headpiece glistening in the sun.

“Baths, monsieur–and ze water of ze sea everywhere?”

These assurances of future comfort were not overburdened with details, but they served to satisfy and calm the governor, I pleading, meanwhile, that Baeader had always proved himself a man of resource, quite ready when required with either a meal or an answer.

So we started for Cancale.

On the way our courier grew more and more enthusiastic. We were traveling in a four-seated carriage, Baeader on the box, pointing out to us in English, after furtive conversations with the driver in French, the principal points of interest. With many flourishes he led us to Parame, one of those Normandy cities which consist of a huge hotel with enormous piazzas, a beach ten miles from the sea, and a small so-called fishing-village as a sort of marine attachment. To give a realistic touch, a lone boat is always being tarred somewhere down at the end of one of its toy streets, two or three donkey-carts and donkeys add an air of picturesqueness, and the usual number of children with red pails and shovels dig in the sand of the roadside. All the fish that are sold come from the next town. It was too early in the season when we reached there for girls in sabots and white caps, the tide from Paris not having set in. The governor hailed it with delight. “Why the devil didn’t you tell me about this place before? Here we have been fooling away our time.”

“But it is only Parame, monsieur,” with an accent on the “only” and a lifting of the hands. “Cancale speciale will charm you; ze coast it is so immediately flat, and ze life of ze sea charmante. Nevare at Parame, always at Cancale.” So we drove on. The governor pacified but anxious–only succumbing at my argument that Baeader knew all Normandy thoroughly, and that an old courier like him certainly could be trusted to select a hotel.