Be that as it may, I have observed that everybody in France smokes whenever and wherever he or she desires, regardless of signs. We did now, and so did our guest, while waiting for the first course, which was black bread baked in a brickyard.

“I would love to go to America,” said mademoiselle.

“You wouldn’t care for it,” replied the captain promptly. “It’s too wild.”

“How is it wild?”

“Every way: manners, habits, morals. The majority of the people, of course, are Indians, and you just can’t make them behave.”

She asked whether either of us had ever been in New York. The captain said he’d passed through there once on the way to Coney Island. She wanted to know if New York was bigger than Paris. “It’s bigger than France,” said Captain Jones.

Monsieur was trying to make a game of her.