edge
to her. It was only a _poupee_, a clay doll, one of dozens that he had
given to the children to amuse them. And the things he had said about
it meant nothing--they had only been words--only words, but she could
not forget them. A little sob rose in her throat, and was choked
bravely back. They were coming down the path now, mademoiselle and her
father, and she must go.

"You do not understand," she said brokenly--and, turning, ran quickly
along the beach.

For a space Jean watched her as she sped over the sand, until, ignoring
the path, she climbed lithely up the rocks at the far end of the beach,
and disappeared in the direction of the house. His hand, a knotted
lump, drawn back for a smashing blow on the gunwale of the boat, a blow
that should relieve his feelings, opened hesitantly instead and passed
a little dazedly across his eyes.

"_Sacre maudit_!" he muttered in slow earnestness under his breath.

Since last night the world was upside-down! Since last night he did
not know himself! He knew nothing! Only that all Bernay-sur-Mer was
changed. That everything was changed. That he had made Marie-Louise
cry. That they had talked about that accursed piece of clay that had
made Marie-Louise cry, as though it were worth talking about!

"_Sacre maudit_!" muttered Jean again. "What does it all mean?"

And then he was watching her, this glorious American, coming now along
the beach toward him with the man who Marie-Louise had said was
mademoiselle's father.

"Jean!"--she was calling out to him. "Here is father at last! Did you
think we were never coming?"

Two hands fell upon his shoulders, holding him off at arms' length; and
the man, with frank eagerness, was staring into his face. Over her
father's shoulder, Myrna was laughing roguishly.

"So you are Jean Laparde?" Henry Bliss exclaimed heartily. "Well,
well! My daughter told me I would lose half my surprise when I had a
good look at you, and I am free to admit she was right." One hand fell
from Jean's shoulder, caught Jean's hand and wrung it in a genial grip.
"Well, Jean, my boy, I want to say to you that if you will listen to
me, this will be a day that you will remember as long as you live."

From one to the other Jean stared bewilderedly.

"It is to the clay figure that monsieur refers, I know," he said
slowly; "but I do not understand. Mademoiselle was kind enough to
praise it, but--" He shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.