We had to leave Paris for the sea-shore and proceeded to Dieppe, where we took a room in a private house, intending to remain there a fortnight at least, but after our first bath we decided to leave on the morrow to another bathing resort, for the water wasn’t pleasant and the landscape discouragingly rain-blotted. It was to Trouville we gave the preference, and went quietly out of the house with our dressing-bags in rather guilty haste at daybreak, before our landlord was up, to catch the first train to Trouville, feeling like fugitives from justice. We walked on quickly towards the railway station, as there were no cabs about at that early hour. Sergy had to come back again to fetch our boxes and pay our account; he told our bewildered landlord that we were suddenly summoned to Paris on business, but it did not prevent, I am sure, the old man from taking us for a pair of unlawful lovers, who had come stealthily to spend a clandestine night at his house.

I found Trouville a most amusing place: no chance of being dull here! It was the height of the season, and the place was full of people who had come to see the races at Dauville, a pretty Norman coast town on the other side of the river La Touque, possessing a splendid hippodrome, where during one week important races take place. Crowds of people came by special trains from Paris, and omnibuses kept constantly arriving with passengers. Our hotel was crammed to the garrets, and it was difficult to get a seat at any of the tables during our meals. Our landlady, a moustached virago, was almost out of her wits to satisfy all the demands.

Pretty Parisiennes came to Trouville to show off their beautiful toilettes, which they changed three times a day. In the afternoon they sat on the beach under big brown holland umbrellas, chatting and flirting with their cavaliers, whilst their bare-legged babies, armed with tin pails, made sand cakes and paddled in the sea.

We went to Dauville on a raft to see the races, although I do not particularly like that sport, and take the view of the late Shah of Persia, who explained why he would not go to the Derby, during his stay in London, by saying that he had always known that one horse could run faster than another, but that it was a matter of perfect indifference to him which that one horse might be. The hippodrome was filled with a gay and fashionable crowd, who followed the races eagerly. The prize of 10,000 francs was won by the famous “Volcano,” whose lucky proprietor was loudly applauded. Rain began to fall and we got wet through because the people behind us wouldn’t let us open our umbrellas: my pretty dress was quite spoilt. Whilst we lingered at Dauville the tide had run away, so we had to take an oddly-shaped carriage, with a white awning on it, and drive back to Trouville, being obliged to cross a pontoon bridge, as with low water the little river La Touque becomes almost dry, and the tide retreats so far that fishing-boats were lying upon the banks of sand.

We went one night to the “Eden Concert.” Between the acts Sergy left his seat for a few moments to bring me bonbons, and all at once a handsome woman, in showy dark style, who had been staring at me through her lorgnette in such a nasty way that I became quite uncomfortable, came up and sat by me and gave me her address, entreating me to call upon her the next day. At that very moment my husband returned to his place, very much astonished to see it occupied by that strange person, who gave up her seat very unwillingly, and continued to throw approving glances at me. Funny sort of type that woman!

Another night we went to the theatre to see “Serge Panine,” the comedy in vogue. I liked the play, but the spectators did not seem to understand it, and giggled in the most pathetic places. We were very much amused when a dog, who was promenading between the chairs, mounted on the stage and stretched himself comfortably before the prompter’s box.

At the end of August we left Trouville and started on our homeward journey.