, and when he was there she
could not keep the conversation entirely in her own hands.

By the girl's most earnest request, she had agreed to stay the night at
the Mont, and they started off in highest spirits by an early morning
train.

Her two companions poured into Barbara's ears a full historical account
of Mont St. Michel, sometimes agreeing, sometimes contradicting each
other, and the girl was glad that, when at last the long stretch of
weird and lonely sandflats was reached, they seemed to have exhausted
their eloquence.

"But where is the sea?" she asked in surprise. "I thought you said the
sea would be all round it."

Mademoiselle Therese looked a little uncomfortable.

"Yes, the sea--of course. I expected the tide would be high. It ought
to be up, I am sure. You told me too that the tide would be high," and
she turned so quickly upon the widower that he jumped nervously.

"Yes, of course, that is to say--you told me the tide should be high at
present, and I said I did not doubt it since you said it; but I heard
some one remarking a few minutes ago that it would be up to-morrow."

"Never mind," Barbara interposed, for she saw signs of a fresh
discussion. "It will be all the nicer to see it rise, I am sure."
And, fortunately, the widower and Mademoiselle Therese agreed with her.

The train, crowded with visitors, puffed slowly towards St. Michel, and
Barbara watched the dim outline of gray stone become clearer, till the
full beauty of the Abbaye and the Merveille burst upon her sight.

"St. Michael and All Angels," she murmured, looking up towards the
golden figure of the archangel on the top of the Abbaye. "He looks as
if guarding the place; but what cruel things went on below him."

"Shocking tragedies!" mademoiselle assured her, having heard the last
words. "Shocking tragedies! But let us be quick and get out, or else
we shall not arrive in time for the first lunch. Now you are going to
taste Madame Poulard's omelettes--a food ambrosial. You will wonder!
They alone are worth coming to the Mont St. Michel for."

They hurried out over the wooden gangway that led from the train lines
to the gate at the foot of the Mont, and entered the strange-stepped
streets, and marvelled at the houses clinging to the rock. They were
welcomed into the inn by Madame Poulard herself, who, resting for a
moment at the doorway from her labours in the kitchen, stood smiling
upon all comers.

Barbara looked w