The Milanese, who were six in number, accepted the invitation, and moored their boat to the jutting shore.

It was then that Monsieur de Montaigne pointed out to the notice of his wife a boat, that had lingered under the shadow of a bank, tenanted by a young man, who had seemed to listen with rapt attention to the music, and who had once joined in the chorus (as it was twice repeated), with a voice so exquisitely attuned, and so rich in its deep power, that it had awakened the admiration even of the serenaders themselves.
"Does not that gentleman belong to your party ?" De Montaigne asked of the Milanese.
"No, Signor, we know him not," was the answer; "his boat came unawares upon us as we were singing." While this question and answer were going on, the young man had quitted his station, and his oars cut the glassy surface of the lake, just before the place where De Montaigne stood.

With the courtesy of his country, the Frenchman lifted his hat; and, by his gesture, arrested the eye and oar of the solitary rower.

"Will you honour us," he said, "by joining our little party ?" "It is a pleasure I covet too much to refuse," replied the boatman, with a slight foreign accent, and in another moment he was on shore.

He was one of remarkable appearance.