er mother's finger pointed on the map.

"Is it a seaport?" she asked.

"Yes, with steamers sailing direct to England."

"But in that case, will it not be in the way of tourists?"

"I suspect not; I have looked what Murray says, and it is so little that
it is pretty evident it is not much visited by the people who follow his
guidance. Besides, I do not see what attraction the place can have
except just the sea. It is an old fortified town, with a market and
considerable maritime trade--sends supplies of various kinds to London,
and has handsome docks; from all which I conclude that business, and not
pleasure, is the thing which takes people there."

"Could you bear a noisy, busy town?"

"After this I do not think we need fear the noise of any provincial
town. In a very quiet place we should not have the direct communication
with England, which is an object with me."

"But, mamma, what need----?"

"Every need, for your sake as well as my own. We _must_ be where, in
case of emergency, you could quickly have help from England."

Lucia trembled at her mother's words. She dared not disregard them after
what had lately happened, but she could not discuss this aspect of the
question.

"I must find out about the journey," Mrs. Costello went on. "If it is
not a very fatiguing one I believe I shall decide at once. We shall both
be the better, in any case, for a little sea air."

"I shall like it at all events. I have never seen the sea except during
our voyage."

"No. I used to be very fond of it. I believe now, if I could get out to
sit on the beach I should grow much stronger."

"Oh, mamma, you must. What is the name of the place? Here it
is--Bourg-Cailloux. When do you think we can go?"

"Not before next week, certainly. Do not make up your mind to that
place, for perhaps it may not suit us yet to go there."

Lucia knelt down, and put her arms softly round her mother's waist.

"Dear mother," she said slowly, "I wish you would go back to England."

Mrs. Costello started. "To England?" she said, "you know quite well that
it is impossible."

"You would be glad to go, mamma."

"Child, you do not know _how_ glad I should be. To die and be buried
among my own people!"

"To go and live among them rather, mamma; Maurice put it into my head
that you might."

She spoke the last sentence timidly; after they had both so avoided
Maurice's name, she half dreaded its effect on her mother. But Mrs.
Costello only shoo