"No? Perhaps not. Well, I'll bring Cinders instead."
"Ah, the good Cinders! He is different."
"And we will go exploring," she said eagerly. "I shan't be a bit afraid of anything with you there. The tenth, then! Don't forget! Good-bye, and thank you ever so much! You won't fail me, will you?"
He bent low over the impetuous little hand. "I shall not fail you, mademoiselle. Adieu!"
"Au revoir!" she laughed back. "Come along, Cinders! We shall be late for tea."
He stood motionless on the sunlit sand and watched her go.
She was limping, but she moved quickly notwithstanding. Cinders trotted soberly by her side.
As she reached the little plage, she turned as if aware of his watching eyes and nonchalantly waved the towel that dangled on her arm. The sunlight had turned her hair to burnished copper. It made her for the moment wonderful, and a gleam of swift admiration shot across the Frenchman's face.
"Merveilleux!" he whispered to himself, and half-aloud, "Good-bye, little bird of Paradise!"
With a courteous gesture of farewell, he turned away. When he looked again, the child, with her glorious, radiant hair, had passed from sight.