“It’s all right, it’s all right,” my uncle repeated. “How fortunate we are to have found this boat ready for sailing. Now let us have some breakfast and go about the town.”

We went first to Kongens Nytorv, an irregular square in which are two innocent-looking guns, which need not alarm anyone. Close by, at No. 5, there was a French “restaurant,” kept by a cook of the name of Vincent, where we had an ample breakfast for four marks each (2 s. 4 d. )