And so a letter at Pontoise decided us, and we drew up our keels
for the last time out of that river of Oise that had faithfully
piloted them, through rain and sunshine, for so long.  For so many
miles had this fleet and footless beast of burthen charioted our
fortunes, that we turned our back upon it with a sense of
separation.  We had made a long detour out of the world, but now we
were back in the familiar places, where life itself makes all the
running, and we are carried to meet adventure without a stroke of
the paddle.  Now we were to return, like the voyager in the play,
and see what rearrangements fortune had perfected the while in our
surroundings; what surprises stood ready made for us at home; and
whither and how far the world had voyaged in our absence.  You may
paddle all day long; but it is when you come back at nightfall, and
look in at the familiar room, that you find Love or Death awaiting
you beside the stove; and the most beautiful adventures are not
those we go to seek.