"Your Papa Fregeau has a tongue that runs away with him," she interrupted quickly. "One may change one's mind, I suppose? This place will do for to-night; but afterwards—surely there is some other place where we could stay?"
Jean shook his head.
"There is only the Bas Rhône," he said slowly. "I—I am afraid—"
"And now, after all, you are going to be stupid!" she exclaimed reproachfully.
What was it? What did she mean? It was not the words—they were nothing. It was the tone, her eyes, an appeal in the exquisite grace of the lithe form bending toward him, the touch of the fingers laid lightly on his sleeve, that look again that levelled all barriers between them—until she was a woman and he was a man. His mind was in riot. He was a fool! And yet, fool or no, the thought would come. Why did she want to stay now? Papa Fregeau had said that almost on their arrival they had decided to go on. It was during her walk that she had changed her mind. What had happened on that walk to make her change her mind? A walk in Bernay-sur-Mer was not full of incident! It was ridiculous, absurd, fantastical, but it was there, the thought, sweeping him with a surge of wild emotion—was it that meeting on the bridge? But why? How? He was a rough-garbed fisherman, and she—
She laughed delightedly.
"What a frown! How fierce you are! Is it then such a terrible affair to help me a little—Jean?"
"Mon Dieu!" cried Jean—and the words were on his lips with a rush. "But—no!"
"Oh!" she murmured, and drew back a little; and the colour, rising, glowed pink through her cheeks. "You are impulsive, aren't you? Well, then, since you are to help me, what are we to do?"
Jean's eyes were revelling in that pink flush. It was satisfying to the man-mind, that—even though she were of the grand monde then, a woman was a woman after all. It was a sort of turning of the tables, that added to the magnetism of her presence because it put him suddenly more at his ease. But to help her—that was another matter. Bernay-sur-Mer was—Bernay-sur-Mer! Voilà tout! Apart from the Bas Rhône there was no accommodation for strangers, for there was nothing stranger than strangers in Bernay-sur-Mer. Since then there was no other place for them to go, he could think of no other place. And yet, a week, a month—to think that she would spend that time in Bernay-sur-Mer! Ciel! Where were his brains?