They laughed uproariously when the echo threw the insults back at them.

When their throats were hoarse from shouting, they made a game of skipping flat stones on the surface of the Seine.
The shower had ceased but the whole party felt so comfortable that no one thought of moving away.

The Seine was flowing by, an oily sheet carrying bottle corks, vegetable peelings, and other refuse that sometimes collected in temporary whirlpools moving along with the turbulent water.

Endless traffic rumbled on the bridge overhead, the noisy bustle of Paris, of which they could glimpse only the rooftops to the left and right, as though they were in the bottom of a deep pit.
Mademoiselle Remanjou sighed; if the leaves had been out this would have reminded her of a bend of the Marne where she used to go with a young man.

It still made her cry to think of him.
At last, Monsieur Madinier gave the signal for departure.