“There will be several napoleons to pay for that,” she thought, as she saw the derelict going fast out of sight. “Never mind if one gets into the enchanted castle.”
At that moment of her landing, whilst she stood shaking the salt water off her on to the sand, a voice addressed her from the marble sea-wall above:
“Have you had an accident, madam? You have displayed great courage. Pray come up those steps; my house is at your disposal.”
“God helps those who help themselves,” thought Mouse, as she looked up and saw a man above who, she felt certain, must be Adrian Vanderlin. “I shall be glad to dry my little daughter’s clothes,” she said, as she began to ascend the stone steps. “The plug of the boat was rotten; it filled before one could call out even. If you have any outhouse you can put us in—we are as wet as two Newfoundlands.”
Boo, feeling that it would be more interesting to do so, had begun to tremble a little and cry, looking a very pretty watery baby-syren.
“Don’t cry, Boo,” said her mother. “You know you’re not frightened a bit, only cold.”
“I have sent to my women servants to bring you cloaks,” said the owner of the château as he came down the steps to meet her, unconscious of the comedy which had been acted for him. “It was very venturesome,” he added, “to come in a rowing-boat with no one to aid you.”
“It was very stupid of me not to examine the condition of the boat,” she replied. “As for danger there was none. I kept close to land, and my child and I swim like fish.”
“So I have seen; but the Mediterranean, if only a salt-water lake as some say, can be a very turbulent one.”
At that moment his servants came, bringing wraps in which they hastened to enfold the lady and her little girl, who were beginning to feel really chilly. They went up to the house, over whose façade the appreciative eyes of Mouse ranged enviously.