As Monsieur Morissot, watchmaker 
profession and idler the nonce, was strolling the boulevard one bright January morning, his hands his trousers pockets and stomach empty, he suddenly came face face an acquaintance -- Monsieur Sauvage, a fishing chum.
the war broke out Morissot had been in the habit, every Sunday morning, setting forth a bamboo rod his hand and a tin box his back. He took the Argenteuil train, got out Colombes, and walked thence the Ile Marante. The moment he arrived this place his dreams he began fishing, and fished nightfall.
