Allard recalled himself to gallantry with charming grace.
"Madame, he should be happier than any one living."
"Thank you, monsieur," she breathed, and let him retire presently, her bosom heaving under its white linen and lace.
It was a very pale and listless girl who had first met Stanief's envoys, but as the voyage proceeded she grew each day more rose-tinted, more daintily radiant and content. One would have said the salt winds blew across some Elysian garden, some fountain of Ponce de Leon, and brought health with their touch. She had a little way of suddenly blushing and smiling, as if at some delightful secret of her own not to be carelessly spoken.
On the last day at sea she chose Allard's arm for her daily promenade up and down the deck. This honor was eagerly desired by the gentlemen, old and young alike, but she had hitherto shown a decided preference for the veteran admiral; or one of her ladies, if the sea were sufficiently calm. Allard no longer wore the scarf, but she had paused before him demurely.
"Your arm is better, monsieur?"
"Madame, it is quite well."
"Then, if you do not fear to injure it—"
And with that they were pacing dignifiedly down the shining deck, under a score of envious eyes.
"To-morrow we arrive, monsieur."