Here we are at Boulogne, comfortably settled at the Hôtel du Pavilion Impérial. From the window I can see the broad Atlantic and the sea-shore which is so extensive that in 1855 Napoleon III. made the review of an army of 40,000 men on it. The tides are very strong at Boulogne, the sea is very high in the afternoon, the water rising rapidly with a great splashing of waves, and towards evening it is quite low again. Bathing is allowed only after the arrival of the life-boats at their station. In bad weather, when the signals of stormy weather are hung out, bathing is forbidden. We spent most of our time out of doors, taking long walks by the sea-shore or wandering up and down the winding, sleepy, streets of old “Haute-Ville,” and climbing up the ramparts with their pleasant outlook on fields and ocean.

One day we visited the fish-market. The fisherwomen with their short skirts and large white flapping caps, holding their arms akimbo, reminded me of the traditional “Madame Angot.” We crossed over in a canoe to a small beach where the fishermen anchor their boats at spring-tide. We returned to Boulogne with a grey-haired boatman wearing a silver ear-ring in one ear. He was a desperate Royalist, as it appears, and fumed all the time during our crossing against the French Republic, thanks to which, to his belief, morals had visibly decayed at Boulogne. He said that we had no idea of the extent of corruption in this unhappy country, and how disloyal the population was to their household traditions which they had cherished for centuries. Wanting to prove to us that he had remained a good Christian, he began to search in the pockets of his jersey for a small silver cross, forgetting to row in the meanwhile; and just at that moment whilst I was going hot and cold all over, a steamer came towards us full speed and we narrowly escaped being upset.

On clear days the coasts of England are discernable; it gave us the desire to cross the Channel. We never remained long in one place, possessed with an insatiable appetite for novelty, and always wanted to be somewhere where we were not; and now also we thought of remaining here three weeks, but at the end of three days we decided to turn our backs on Boulogne. I suggested that we should leave for London without delay, with the mail-boat which started for Folkestone in the morning. All the boats leave Boulogne when the tide is at its highest and not at set hours. We packed up our things at once and asked for our hotel bill, which proved to be a very long-tailed comet, quite three feet in length. It took us some time to settle it, as we were short of change, having only Russian money which was not accepted at the hotel, and as it was Sunday all the exchange offices were shut. Our situation was very embarrassing. At length the hotel manager took pity on us and accepted our Russian coins.

We were just in time for the Channel-boat, but our first impression when we stepped on board was not very favourable, thanks to a battery of basins placed under the sofas of the saloon; I began to feel sick on the spot and hurried up on deck where the air felt cool and delicious after the close atmosphere of the saloon. Leaning on the rail, I looked out at the fast disappearing French coast. There was no wind and the ocean was as smooth as a lake. We had a first-rate passage and it only took us three-quarters of an hour to get to Folkestone. We soon perceived the white cliffs of England.

At Folkestone we took the express to London; the train rushed across the pleasant English landscape. All around lay pasture of green velvet with flocks of sheep grazing on the meadows. Soon tall chimneys rose against the sky. Here was London! its suburbs look like one immense building with an endless line of similar houses with boxes of red geraniums on the window-sills, surmounted by numerous chimney-pots smoking in the misty air.