her is Henry Bliss--I wonder if you have ever heard
of him? We have lived for years and years in Paris."

Father Anton was genuinely embarrassed.

"I--I am afraid I never have," he admitted.

"Oh, well," she cried gaily, "you mustn't feel badly about it. His is
entirely a reflected glory--that is what I tell him. Art! Everything
is art with him, painting, sculpture, literature; and, as he can do
neither one nor the other himself, he endows a school for this, or a
_societe_ for that, and money exists for only one reason--the
advancement of art. And since he calls Paris the home of art, we live
in Paris. But now I am prattling like a school girl"--she laughed
infectiously.

The cure's old face wrinkled into smiles.

"It is very interesting, mademoiselle," he said. "And here in
Bernay-sur-Mer I fear we know too little of such things." He reached
across the fence and laid his hand affectionately on Jean's shoulder.
"But it is not quite all our fault, is it, Jean? The _sous_ come hard
with the fishing, and we do not have much time for anything outside our
own little world. I should greatly like to talk with monsieur, your
father. Is it possible that you are to stay a little while here?"

"If we do"--the girl's face was a picture of roguish merriment--"you
will not be able to escape him, I promise you, Monsieur le Cure--so
beware! But that is our trouble. My father is on what he calls a
little holiday--it is really that he needs rest and quiet. For a man
of his age, what with his own affairs and his 'art,' he is far too
active. Very well. Bernay-sur-Mer is ideal, only--except--Monsieur le
Cure, I am sure, will understand--except the Bas Rhone."

"Ah, the Bas Rhone!" said Father Anton. "It is that, then--the Bas
Rhone?"

"Exactly!" she smiled. "And so Jean has brought me to you to suggest
something else for us."

Father Anton joined his finger tips thoughtfully.

"Yes; I see," he said. "My good friends, the Fregeaus, would do all in
their power for you, they are most excellent people; but, yes--h'm--I
see. It is a cafe much more than an inn, and for a cafe it answers
very well; and, after all, it is not their fault that there are not
proper accommodations for guests. Yes; I am afraid the accommodations
must be very inadequate. But you see, mademoiselle"--Father Anton's
voice had a quaint, gentle note of pleading--"we are quite off the main
road, and it is rare that a stranger stops in Bernay-s