The next day, the weather was fine. The sun rose, brilliant and clear, and its first purple rays glistened like rubies on the foamy crests of the waves.

The meal had been set out on the first floor of the same inn, La Réserve, with the terrace of which we are already acquainted. It was a large room, lit by five or six windows, above each of which (for some inexplicable reason) was inscribed the name of one of the great towns of France. A gallery -- of wood, like the rest of the building -- ran the whole length of the room under the windows.

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