She told wondrous histories of his exploits amongst the ice, of his encounters with the natives--"_les Indiens_," of the success of all his voyages, and the virtues of his captain, who was an Englishman and _never spoke to his crew_, but was the most just man in the world, and ended by saying that when she met with English people she felt _in Paradise_.
Although we listened to her continued chattering with amused attention, it was far otherwise with some quiet, silent, women who sat beside us; we soon gathered, by certain contemptuous glances which they exchanged, that they did not give credit to half our little Dejazet was telling; and when to crown the whole, she related a story of a beautiful maiden of Lisieux, who had been distinguished by the notice of the Duke de _Nemours_ when he visited that place on his way to join _his ship_ at Havre, they could support their impatience no longer, and broadly contradicted her on the ground that the Prince de Joinville and _not_ Nemours was the sailor.
Nothing daunted, our gay whaler's wife insisted on every part of her history being true, asserting that she must know best, and if the young prince had _left the navy_ since, it was not her affair.
As she approached Lisieux she became more and more animated, darting her body half way out of the window every minute to look out for her _papa_ or her other relations;--at length, with a scream which would have secured Dejazet three rounds of applause, she recognised her parent in a peasant _en blouse_, trudging along the road carrying his bundle--on his way, no doubt, as she assured us, to see her sister, who lived at a village near.

Tears and smiles alternately divided the expression of her countenance, as she now feared her sister was ill, and now rejoiced at seeing her father.

All was however happily settled when the coach stopped and she sprang out into the arms of her papa, who had followed the diligence, and came up out of breath; and it was then that we became aware that a remarkably ill-looking, dirty, elderly, Jewish featured man, to whom she had occasionally spoken on the journey, was the identical perfection of a _mari_, of whom she had been boasting all the way.

The incredulous listeners, whom she had so annoyed, now revenged themselves by sundry depreciatory remarks on the appearance of this phoenix, whom they pronounced to have the air of a tinker or old clothesman, and by no means that of the hero he had been represented.
As it was raining violently on our arrival at Lisieux, the town presented to us but an uncomfortable appearance; and as we had to search for an hotel, and were at last obliged to be content with one far from inviting, our first impression was by no means agreeable; nor does Lisieux offer anything to warrant a change in the traveller's opinion who considers it dreary, slovenly, and ruinous.

There is much, however, to admire in the once beautiful cathedral, and the church of St.
Jacques, both grand specimens of the massive architecture of the twelfth century.
In this town lived and died the traitor Bishop of Bayeux, Pierre Cauchon, who sold the heroic Jeanne d'Arc for English gold.