“Nowhere, Gasselin.”
“Tiens! here comes the coach from Nazaire,” cried Gasselin presently.
“Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel and her niece will be in it. Let us hide,” said Calyste.
“Hide! are you crazy, monsieur? Why, we are on the moor!”
The coach, which was coming up the sandy hill above Saint-Nazaire, was full, and, much to the astonishment of Calyste, there were no signs of Charlotte.
“We had to leave Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, her sister and niece; they are dreadfully worried; but all my seats were engaged by the custom-house,” said the conductor to Gasselin.
“I am lost!” thought Calyste; “they will meet me down there.”
When Calyste reached the little esplanade which surrounds the church of Saint-Nazaire, and from which is seen Paimboeuf and the magnificent Mouths of the Loire as they struggle with the sea, he found Camille and the marquise waving their handkerchiefs as a last adieu to two passengers on the deck of the departing steamer. Beatrix was charming as she stood there, her features softened by the shadow of a rice-straw hat, on which were tufts and knots of scarlet ribbon. She wore a muslin gown with a pattern of flowers, and was leaning with one well-gloved hand on a slender parasol. Nothing is finer to the eyes than a woman poised on a rock like a statue on its pedestal. Conti could see Calyste from the vessel as he approached Camille.
“I thought,” said the young man, “that you would probably come back alone.”
“You have done right, Calyste,” she replied, pressing his hand.