among the old scenery of a
theatre.

The Durande passed close to a cutter which had cast anchor for safety.
It was the _Shealtiel_ of Guernsey. The master of the cutter remarked
the high speed of the steam-vessel. It struck him also, that she was not
in her exact course. She seemed to him to bear to westward too much. The
apparition of this vessel under full steam in the fog surprised him.

Towards two o'clock the weather had become so thick that the captain was
obliged to leave the bridge, and plant himself near the steersman. The
sun had vanished, and all was fog. A sort of ashy darkness surrounded
the ship. They were navigating in a pale shroud. They could see neither
sky nor water.

There was not a breath of wind.

The can of turpentine suspended under the bridge, between the
paddle-boxes, did not even oscillate.

The passengers had become silent.

The Parisian, however, hummed between his teeth the song of
Beranger--"_Un jour le bon Dieu s'eveillant_."

One of the St. Malo passengers addressed him:

"You are from Paris, sir?"

"Yes, sir. _Il mit la tete a la fenetre._"

"What do they do in Paris?"

"_Leur planete a peri, peut-etre._--In Paris, sir, things are going on
very badly."

"Then it's the same ashore as at sea."

"It is true; we have an abominable fog here."

"One which might involve us in misfortunes."

The Parisian exclaimed:

"Yes; and why all these misfortunes in the world? Misfortunes! What are
they sent for, these misfortunes? What use do they serve? There was the
fire at the Odeon theatre, and immediately a number of families thrown
out of employment. Is that just? I don't know what is your religion,
sir, but I am puzzled by all this."

"So am I," said the St. Malo man.

"Everything that happens here below," continued the Parisian, "seems to
go wrong. It looks as if Providence, for some reason, no longer watched
over the world."

The St. Malo man scratched the top of his head, like one making an
effort to understand. The Parisian continued:

"Our guardian angel seems to be absent. There ought to be a decree
against celestial absenteeism. He is at his country-house, and takes no
notice of us; so all gets in disorder. It is evident that this guardian
is not in the government; he is taking holiday, leaving some vicar--some
seminarist angel, some wretched creature with sparrows'-wings--to look
after affairs."

Captain Clubin, who had approached the speakers during this
conv