, and remembering that she had been
instructed to seize any chance of doing a kindness, no matter how small.
She had never been told that it was not always safe for a girl to treat
a Frenchman as a fellow-being.

Afterward, on the boat, when a porter had placed her in a sheltered
deck-seat with a curved top, the fellow-being ventured again to thank
the English Mees for coming to his rescue. It was a pleasure to Mary to
speak French, which had been taught her by Sister Marie-des-Anges, a
French nun from Paris; and she and the young man plunged into an
animated conversation. Her travelling companions had chairs on deck not
far off, and they knew what to think of the mystery now. They were on
the way to Mentone, but as they intended stopping a day in Paris, and
going on by a cheaper train than the _train de luxe_, Mary did not see
them again during the journey.

She was unconscious of anything in her appearance or conduct to arouse
disapproval. Her one regret concerning the thin silk stockings and
delicate shoes (which she had bought because they were pretty) was that
her ankles were cold. She had no rug; but the Frenchman insisted on
lending her his, tucking it round her knees and under her feet. Then she
was comfortable, and even more grateful to him than he had been to her
for translating him to the porter. He was dark and thin, cynically
intelligent looking, of a type new to Mary; and she thanked him for
being disappointed that she could not stop in Paris. He inquired if, by
chance, she were going to Monte Carlo. When she said no, she was passing
on much farther, he was again disappointed, because, being an artist, he
often ran down to Monte Carlo himself in the winter, and it would have
been a great privilege to renew acquaintance with so charming an English
lady.

Mary had feared that she might be ill in crossing the Channel, as she
had never been on the water before, and could not know whether she were
a good or a bad sailor. Aunt Sara and Elinor had told her unpleasant
anecdotes of voyages; but when Dover Castle on its gray height, and
white Shakespeare Cliff with its memories of "Lear," had faded from her
following eyes, still she would hardly have known that the vessel was
moving. The purring turbines scarcely thrilled the deck; and presently
Mary ate sandwiches and drank a decoction of coffee, brought by her new
friend. He laughed when she started at a mournful hoot of the siren, and
was enormously interested