"You know," said Jean, some of his fears returning after a time, "one usually has guides—people who know the sands—to take one out so far. I trod on a very soft place just now."
"Keep near the footprints then," Barbara answered. "The tide hasn't been up yet, and the sands can't surely change in the night-time. Just a little farther, and then we will stop."
They stopped a few minutes later, and both declared that the view was well worth the walk, the only thing that Barbara regretted being that it was too damp to sit down and enjoy it at their ease.
"It would have been nice to get as far as Tombelaine," the girl said at last, turning from St. Michel to take another look at the rocky islet farther out; "but I suppose we really must be going home again now."
Jean did not answer her. He had turned with her towards the rock; then his eyes had wandered round the horizon, and had remained fixed in such a stare that the girl wondered what he saw.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "What is it you are seeing, Jean?"
"The sea," he gasped, his face becoming ashen. "Mademoiselle—the tide—it advances—we will be caught."
Barbara looked across the long stretch of gray sand till her eyes found the moving line of water.
"It is nearer," she said slowly; "but of course it always comes in every day."
"Yes—but—to-day—I had forgotten—it is to be high tide—all round the Mont. Did you not hear them say so?"