For all that, our voyager had got beyond Château Renard before he was conscious of arousing wonder. On the road between that place and Châtillon-sur-Loing, however, he encountered a rural postman; they fell together in talk, and spoke of a variety of subjects; but through one and all, the postman was still visibly preoccupied, and his eyes were faithful to the Arethusa ’s knapsack. At last, with mysterious roguishness, he inquired what it contained, and on being answered, shook his head with kindly incredulity. “ Non ,” said he, “ non, vous avez des portraits. ” And then with a languishing appeal, “ Voyons , show me the portraits!” It was some little while before the Arethusa , with a shout of laughter, recognised his drift. By portraits he meant indecent photographs; and in the Arethusa