The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. Michelle was too polite to put it into words. But in this posture he fared worse than ever. It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Spurling in alarm.
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