The Rocks of Valpré | Page 6

He looked at her doubtfully.
She nodded. "If you will take me as far as the sand, I shall do splendidly then. You see, I can't let you come into Valpré with me because--because--"
"Because, mademoiselle--?" Up went the black brows questioningly.
She flushed a little, but her clear eyes met his with absolute candour. "We have a French governess," she explained, "who was brought up in a convent, so she is very easily shocked. If she knew that I had spoken to a stranger, and a man"--she raised her hands with a merry gesture--"she would have a fit--several fits. I couldn't risk it. Poor mademoiselle! She doesn't understand our English ways a bit. Why, she wouldn't even let me paddle if she could help it. I shall have to keep very quiet about this foot of mine, or it will be 'Jamais encore!' and 'Encore jamais!' for the rest of my natural life. And, after all," pathetically, "there can be no great harm in dipping one's feet in sea-water, can there?"
But the Frenchman looked grave. "You will show your foot to the doctor, will you not?" he said.
"Dear me, no!" said Chris.
"_Mais, mademoiselle_--"
She checked him with her quick, winning smile.
"Please don't talk French. I like English so much the best. Besides, it's holiday-time."
"But, mademoiselle," he persisted, "if it should become serious!"
"Oh, it won't," she said lightly. "I shall be all right. Nothing ever happens to me."
"Nothing?" he questioned, with an answering smile.
She was hobbling over the stones with his assistance. "Nothing interesting, I assure you," she said.
"Except when mademoiselle goes to the cavern of the fairies to look for the magic knight?" he suggested.
She threw him a merry glance. "To be sure! I will come and see you again some day when the tide is low. Is there a dragon in the cave?"
"He is there only when the tide is high, mademoiselle, a beast enormous with eyes of fire."
"And a princess?" asked the English girl, keenly interested.
"No, there is no princess."
"Only you and the dragon?"
"Generally only me, mademoiselle."
"Whatever do you do there?" she asked curiously.
His smile was bafflingly direct. "Me? I make magic, mademoiselle."
"What sort of magic?"
"What sort? That is a difficult question."
"May I come and see it?" asked Chris eagerly, scenting a mystery.
He hesitated.
"I'll come all by myself," she assured him.
"_Mais la gouvernante_--"
"As if I should bring her! No, no! I'll come alone--with Cinders."
"_Mais, mademoiselle_--"
"If you say that again I shall be cross," announced Chris.
"But--pardon me, mademoiselle--the governess, might she not object?"
"Absurd!" said Chris. "I am not a French girl, and I won't behave like one."
He laughed at that, plainly because he could not help it. "Mademoiselle pleases herself!" he observed.
"Of course I do," returned Chris vigorously. "I always have. I may come then?"
"But certainly."
"When?"
"When you will, mademoiselle."
Chris considered. They had reached the firm sand, and she stood still. "I can't come to-morrow because of my foot, and the day after the tide will be too late. I shall have to wait nearly a fortnight. How dull!"
"In a fortnight, then!" said the Frenchman.
"In a fortnight, preux chevalier!" Her eyes laughed up at him. "But I dare say we shall meet before then. I hope we shall."
"I hope it also, mademoiselle." He bowed courteously.
She held out her hand. "I shall come on the tenth of the month--it's my birthday. I'll bring some cakes, and we'll have a party, and invite the dragon." Her eyes danced. "We will have some fun, shall we?"
"I think that we shall not want the dragon," he smiled back.
"No? Perhaps not. Well, I'll bring Cinders instead."
"Ah, the good Cinders! He is different."
"And we will go exploring," she said eagerly. "I shan't be a bit afraid of anything with you there. The tenth, then! Don't forget! Good-bye, and thank you ever so much! You won't fail me, will you?"
He bent low over the impetuous little hand. "I shall not fail you, mademoiselle. Adieu!"
"Au revoir!" she laughed back. "Come along, Cinders! We shall be late for tea."
He stood motionless on the sunlit sand and watched her go.
She was limping, but she moved quickly notwithstanding. Cinders trotted soberly by her side.
As she reached the little plage, she turned as if aware of his watching eyes and nonchalantly waved the towel that dangled on her arm. The sunlight had turned her hair to burnished copper. It made her for the moment wonderful, and a gleam of swift admiration shot across the Frenchman's face.
"Merveilleux!" he whispered to himself, and half-aloud, "Good-bye, little bird of Paradise!"
With a courteous gesture of farewell, he turned away. When he looked again, the child, with her glorious, radiant hair, had passed from sight.
He went back, springing over the rocks, to the Gothic archway that had fired her curiosity. The tide was rising fast. Already the white foam raced up to the rocky entrance. He splashed through it, and