ut into
the darkness, I saw Speed curled up on a blanket between the
elephant's forefeet, sound asleep.

XII

JACQUELINE

The stars were still shining when I awoke in my blanket, lighted a
candle, and stepped into the wooden tub of salt-water outside the
tent.

I shaved by candle-light, dressed in my worn riding-breeches and
jacket, then, candle in hand, began groping about among the faded bits
of finery and tarnished properties until I found the silver-scaled
swimming-tights once worn by the girl of whom we had heard so much.

She was very young when she leaped to her death in Antwerp--a slim
slip of a creature, they said--so I thought it likely that her suit
might fit Jacqueline.

The stars had begun to fade when I stepped out through the dew-soaked
clover, carrying in one hand a satchel containing the swimming-suit,
in the other a gun-case, in which, carefully oiled and doubly cased in
flannel, reposed my only luxury--my breech-loading shot-gun.

The silence, intensified by the double thunder of the breakers on the
sands, was suddenly pierced by a far cock-crow; vague gray figures
passed across the square as I traversed it; a cow-bell tinkled near
by, and I smelt the fresh-blown wind from the downs.

Presently, as I turned into the cliff-path, I saw a sober little
Breton cow plodding patiently along ahead; beside her moved a
fresh-faced maid of Paradise in snowy collarette and white-winged
head-dress, knitting as she walked, fair head bent.

As I passed her she glanced up with tear-dimmed eyes, murmuring the
customary salutation: "Bonjour d'ac'h, m'sieu!" And I replied in the
best patois I could command: "Bonjour d'ec'h a laran, na oeled Ket!
Why do you cry, mademoiselle?"

"Cry, m'sieu? They are taking the men of Paradise to the war. France
must know how cruel she is to take our men from us."

We had reached the green crest of the plateau; the girl tethered her
diminutive cow, sat down on a half-imbedded stone, and continued her
knitting, crying softly all the while.

I asked her to direct me to the house where Robert, the Lizard, lived;
she pointed with her needles to a large stone house looming up in the
gray light, built on the rocks just under the beacon. It was white
with sea-slime and crusted salt, yet heavily and solidly built as a
fort, and doubtless very old, judging from the traces of sculptured
work over portal and windows.

I had scarcely expected to find the ragged Lizard and m