it myself; but he is the fisherman who took me to
Father Anton here, you know--the one I told you might possibly do as a
boatman for us while we were here."

"Great grief! Do as a--_boatman_!" ejaculated Henry Bliss weakly.
"You, Monsieur le Cure, what time do these fishermen return?"

"But anytime, now," Father Anton answered. "The boats go out very
early in the morning."

"Good!" Henry Bliss pushed the cure impetuously toward the door.
"Then, you and I, Father Anton, will go right back to the village and
be there when he comes in."

"But"--Father Anton was quite bewildered--one was literally carried off
one's feet--were they all alike, these Americans! "But," he protested
helplessly, as he was being pulled through the door, "but if the boats
are already in, and since mademoiselle said he was coming here, then--"

"Then we will meet him on the road"--they were already out of the
house. "Now, then, Monsieur le Cure, if you are a loyal Frenchman,
step out quickly, for this is the greatest day in the history of
France, the greatest day, I tell you, in the"--the voice died away in
the distance.

Marie-Louise had not moved. She was still standing in the centre of
the room, a strangely spellbound, dumfounded little figure.

"Mademoiselle," she ventured timidly, "what--what is--"

"I am sure I do not know," said Myrna languidly. "Have you no shoes or
stockings?"

Marie-Louise glanced perplexedly at her small, bare feet.

"But, yes, mademoiselle--for the village sometimes, and when one walks
in the fields."

"Go and put them on, then," directed Myrna. "And remember always to
wear them while we are here. When you come back, I will go through the
house with you and tell you what to do."

"Yes, mademoiselle," said Marie-Louise nervously--there was a sense of
guilt upon her, but wherein lay the enormity of her offence she did not
understand. Nevertheless, was not mademoiselle of the great world, and
since mademoiselle was displeased, surely mademoiselle must know. She
turned hastily from the room.

"No--wait!" Myrna's brain, for all her outward composure, was far from
calm. It seemed as though the little stone she had started rolling
down the hill in a--well, was it a whim?--was gathering many other
stones in its course and developing into an avalanche. She had no
desire to go into the details of the house with this Marie-Louise at
that moment; on the contrary, it was absolutely impossible. The one