Chris's confidence, gave it as
his opinion that she had eloped with someone, that officer-chap she met
the other day, he'd lay a wager! But Maxwell poured contempt upon the
bare suggestion. Chris--elope with a Frenchman! He could as easily see
himself eloping with the Goat--a pet name that he and his brother had
bestowed upon Mademoiselle Gautier, and which fitted her rather well upon
occasion.

Three hours after sunrise the prodigal returned, lightfooted, gay of
mien. She was alone when she arrived, having firmly refused Bertrand's
escort farther then the end of the _plage_, lest poor Mademoiselle, who
hated men, should have hysterics. But the tale of her adventures had
preceded her. All Valpre knew what had happened, and watched her with
furtive curiosity. All Valpre knew that the _petite Anglaise_ had spent
the night in a cave with one of the officers from the fortress, and all
Valpre waited with bated breath, prepared to be duly scandalized.

But Chris was sublimely unconscious of this. Of course, she knew that
Mademoiselle would be shocked, but then Mademoiselle's feelings were so
extremely sensitive upon all points moral that it was almost impossible
to spend an hour in her company without in some fashion doing violence
to them. One simply tumbled over them, as it were, at every turn.

She expected and encountered the usual storm of reproach, but when
Mademoiselle proceeded to inform her that she was ruined for life, she
opened her blue eyes wide and barely suppressed a chuckle. She professed
penitence and even asked forgiveness for all the anxiety she had caused,
but she could not see that what had happened possessed the tragic
importance that Mademoiselle assigned to it. According to her distracted
governess, she had almost better have been drowned. For the life of her,
Chris couldn't see why.

When the tempest had somewhat spent itself, she retreated to her
brothers, to whom she poured out a full and animated account of the
night's happenings. They all agreed that Mademoiselle must have rats in
the upper story to make such a pother over the adventure, though Maxwell,
who held himself to be approaching years of discretion, gave it as his
opinion that the whole thing was a piece of bad luck and an experiment
not to be repeated.

"It's over anyhow," said Chris. "And we are none the worse, are we,
Cinders? So all's well that ends well, and now I'm going to get something
to eat."

For the next two days, Made