any days! Even a fisherman might lift his eyes as high as
that--since she gave him leave. Afterwards, she would go away again;
but, _bon Dieu_, one could at least live in the present! It would be
something to remember! Her eyes were on him again. He felt them
studying him. Her hand brushed his arm. There was a faint, enticing
fragrance of violets in the air about her.

"You are not very gallant, Jean!" she laughed out. "Aren't you pleased
with the suggestion; or would you rather--fish?"

They had reached the church, and turned.

"I was thinking," said Jean, with unconscious naivete, "that I was
afraid Father Anton would not know of any place."

She looked at him quickly, a flash in the grey eyes--then the lids
lowered. The next instant she was pointing ahead of her.

"But there!" she cried out. "There is Monsieur le Cure's house, is it
not?" She clapped her hands in sudden delight. "Why, it is a
play-house, only a make-believe one! And how pretty!"

Behind the church was a little garden, full-flowered; a little white
fence; a little white gate; and, at the end of the garden, a little
cottage, smaller than any, where none were large, in Bernay-sur-Mer,
and which was white in colour, too, if one might hazard a guess for the
vines that grew over it, covering it, submerging it, clothing it in a
clinging mass of green, until only the little stubby chimney peeked
shyly out from the centre of the slanting roof.

"Yes," said Jean; "and there is Father Anton himself."

A bare-headed, silver-haired form in rusty black _soutane_, a watering
pot in hand, was bending over a bed of dahlias; but at the sound of
their approach the priest put down the watering pot, and came hurriedly
toward them to the gate.

"Ah, Jean, my son!" he cried out heartily--and bowed with old-fashioned
courtliness to Jean's companion. "I heard there were strangers in
Bernay-sur-Mer, mademoiselle; but that they had gone on again. You are
very welcome. Won't you come in?"

She leaned upon the gate, smiling--and shook her head.

"No, thank you, Monsieur le Cure. I must not stay long, or my father
will be wondering what could have become of me. The truth is, that
I--we are in trouble, and Jean here has brought me to you."

"Trouble!" exclaimed Father Anton anxiously, and his face grew suddenly
grave.

She shook her head again, and laughed.

"Oh, it is not serious! You see--but I must introduce myself. I am
Myrna Bliss. My fat