"Did you not recognise the animal the moment you saw it, M. le Chevalier?"
"But I never set eyes on it before in my life," objected he.
"Yet it certainly comes out of the illustrations—by Coypel, if I remember right, they were. But perhaps when you read it in your childhood you had not an illustrated edition?"
"An edition of what?" asked La Vireville, now completely at sea.
"Of an old Spanish book called The Adventures of Don Quixote de la Mancha," she said, sparkling, having, as was evident, so timed this thrust that their overtaking her brother and Grain d'Orge at that very moment should prevent his answering her.
Since neither of them could assist in getting ready the little sailing-boat, already at her moorings below them, they had, afterwards, a few moments' more converse. La Vireville had dismounted, and now sat upon the short sea turf at the head of the steep little sandy track that plunged down into the cove. For all the circumstances of escape and danger and caution there was a certain feeling of security, almost of holiday. No patrol was out that night, so much had been previously ascertained. The offshore breeze of evening was blowing; although the sun was down there were rosy wisps in the sky, and the tide drew in upon the little sandy beach like a lover.
"Madame," said La Vireville, looking up at her, for she was still standing, "some time hence, when I come to Jersey, I shall make an excuse to visit Guernsey and see if you are tired of domesticity, and ready to undertake the post of agent de la correspondance again."
"So it is not in the Carhoët division," answered she, looking out to sea.
"Would you come to Kerdronan then?"