"My hat!" mademoiselle cried again, turning to the people on the pier, who were waiting for the ferry. "Rescue my hat—my best hat!"
At this stirring appeal several moved forward and looked smilingly at the doomed head-gear; and one kind little Frenchman stooped down and tried to catch it with the end of his stick, but failed. Mademoiselle grew desperate.
"If you cannot get the hat, get the hat-pins," she wailed. "They are silver-gilt—and presents. Four fine large hat-pins."
Then, seeing that several people were laughing, she grew angry.
"And you call yourselves men, and Frenchmen! Can none of you swim? Why do you stand there mocking?"
"It is such an ugly hat," an Englishman murmured near Barbara. "It would be a sin to save such an inartistic creation."
"But she will get another just as bad," Barbara said, with dancing eyes. "And—it is her best one!"
"Cowards!" mademoiselle cried again, leaning futilely over the quay. "I tell you, it is not only the hat, but the hat-pins. Oh! to see it drown before my eyes, and none brave enough to bring it back!"
This piece of rhetoric seemed to move one French youth, who slowly began to unlace his boots, though with what object one could not be quite sure.
"It is such a particularly ugly hat," the Englishman continued critically. "Those great roses like staring eyes on each side, with no regard for colour or anything else."