"The sea?"
"But certainly. Yonder, do you not see in the sand, those ruins? Ah! there is not much left to-day, but many, many years ago those were happy villages, with green fields stretching beyond, and the oak-trees of Scissy sheltering the valleys."
"Is it a fairy story you are telling me, Mademoiselle Cécile?"
She did not heed his raillery, but replied with sober earnestness:
"No, no; it is quite true. That was before the Deluge."
"Before the Deluge?"
He could hardly hide his laughter.
"It is so called in Armorica, Monsieur. It was a terrible flood. There is a legend about it which some say is quite true."
"Tell it to me."'
He was not greatly interested—this trifler who was in danger of being in such deadly earnest himself; but he liked to see the animation on the pretty, childish face and the quaint seriousness with which she told her story.