The Rocks of Valpré | Page 5

seated her at once upon a flat rock, and stooped to assure himself as to the success of his bandage.
"It gives you not so much of pain, no?" he asked.
"It scarcely hurts at all," she assured him. "You will be quick now, won't you, because I ought to be getting back. If you see Cinders, you might bring him too."
"Cinders?" he questioned, pausing.
"My dog," she explained. "But he doesn't talk French, so I don't suppose he will follow you."
He received the information with a smile. "But I speak English, mademoiselle," he protested for the second time.
"Ah yes, you do--after a fashion," admitted Chris. "But I don't suppose Cinders would understand it. It's not very English English."
He raised his shoulders in a gesture that was purely French. "La belle dame sans merci!" he murmured ruefully. "Bien! I will do my possible."
"Splendid!" laughed Chris. "No one could do more."
She watched him go with eyes that sparkled with merriment. The trim, slight figure was quite good to look upon. He went bounding over the rocks with the sure-footed grace of a chamois.
"I wonder who he really is," said Chris, "and where he comes from."

CHAPTER II
DESTINY
Over the rocks went the stranger with the careless speed of youth, humming to himself in a soft tenor, his brown face turned to the sun. The pleasant smile was still upon it. He had the look of one in whose eyes all things are good.
Ahead of him gleamed the towel with the sandals upon it, sandals that might have been fashioned for fairy feet. He quickened his pace at sight of them. But she was charming, this English child! He had never before seen anyone quite so dainty. And of a courage unique in one so young!
He was nearing the sandals now, but the sun was in his eyes, and he saw only the towel spread like a tablecloth over the rock. He sprang lightly down on to a heap of shingle, and reached for it, still humming the chanson that the little English girl had somehow put into his head.
The next instant a deep growl arrested him, and sharply he drew back. There was something more than a pair of sandals on the towel above him, something that crouched in an attitude of tense hostility, daring him to approach. It was only a small creature that thus challenged him, only a weird black terrier of doubtful extraction, but he bristled from end to end with animosity. Quite plainly he regarded the sandals as his responsibility. With glaring eyes and gleaming teeth he crouched, prepared to defend them.
The young Frenchman's discomfiture was but momentary. In an instant he had taken in the situation and the humour of it.
"But it is the good Cinders!" he said aloud, and extended a fearless hand. "So, my friend, so! The little mistress waits."
Cinders' growl became a snarl. He sucked up his breath in furious protest, threatening murder. But the stranger's hand was not withdrawn. On the contrary it advanced upon him with the utmost deliberation till Cinders was compelled to jerk backwards to avoid it.
So jerking, he missed his footing as his mistress had before him, lost his balance, and rolled, cursing, clinging, and clambering, over the edge of the rock.
Had the Frenchman laughed at that moment he would have made an enemy for life. But most fortunately he did not regard an antagonist's downfall as a fit subject for mirth. In fact, being of a chivalrous turn, he grabbed at the luckless Cinders, clutched his collar, and dragged him up again. And--perhaps it was the generosity of the action, perhaps only its obvious fearlessness--he won Cinders' heart from that instant. His hostility merged into sudden ardent friendship. He set his paws on the young man's chest, and licked his face.
Thenceforth he was more than welcome to sandals and towel and even the effusive Cinders himself, who leaped around him barking in high delight, and accompanied him with giddy circlings upon his return journey.
Chris, who had viewed the encounter from afar with much interest, clapped her hands at their approach.
"And you weren't a bit afraid!" she laughed. "I couldn't think what you would do. Cinders looked so fierce. But any one can see you understand dogs--even English dogs."
"It is possible that at heart the English and the French resemble each other more than we think, mademoiselle," observed the Frenchman. "One can never tell."
He bent again over the injured foot with the sandal in his hand.
"It's very good of you to take all this trouble," said Chris abruptly.
He flashed her a quick smile. "But no, mademoiselle! It gives me pleasure to be of service to you."
"I'm sure I don't know what I should have done without you," she rejoined. "Ah, that is much better. I shall be able to walk now."
"You think it?"