the sea. As the low sun went down in the southern sky, the scattered
groups came home by twos and threes, anxious to bring in their day's
fishing in time for the men to carry them across to the mainland before
the Mont should be shut in by the tide.

A busy scene was that in the gateway.

All the town was there; some coming in from the sands, and those who
had been left at home with babies or old folks running down from their
houses. There was chaffing and bartering; exchanges agreed upon, and
commissions innumerable to be intrusted to the men about to set out
for Pontorson, the nearest town. Michel Lorio was going to sell his own
fish, for who would carry it for him? Yet though he was the first who
was ready to start, not a soul charged him with a single commission. He
lingered wistfully and loitered just outside the gateway; but neither
man, woman, nor child said, "Michel, bring me what I want from the
town."

He was treading slowly down the rough causeway under the walls of the
town, when a woman's shrill voice startled him. It was not far from
sunset, and the sun was sinking round and red behind a bank of fog.
A thin gray mist was creeping up from the sea. The latest band of
stragglers, a cluster of mere children, were running across the sand
to the gate. Michel turned round and saw Nicolas's wife, a dark,
stern-looking woman, beckoning vehemently to these children. He paused
for a moment to look at his little Delphine. "Not there!" he said to
himself, and was passing on, when the shrill voice again caught his
attention.

"Where is Phine?" called the mother.

What was it the children said? What answer had they shouted back?
Michel stood motionless, as if all strength had failed him suddenly.
The children rushed past him in a troop. He lifted up his eyes, looking
fearfully toward the sea hidden behind the deepening fog. Was it
possible that he had heard them say that Delphine was lost?

"Where is Phine?" asked the mother; but though her voice was lower now,
Michel heard every syllable loudly. It seemed as if he could have heard
a whisper, though the chattering in the gateway was like the clamour
of a fair. The eldest girl in the little band spoke in a hurried and
frightened tone.

"Phine is so naughty, madame," she said, "we could not keep her near us.
She would go on and on to the sea. We could not wait for her. We heard
her calling, but it was so far, we dared not go back. But she cannot be
far behind us,