for we shouted as we came along. She will be here soon,
madame."

"_Mon Dieu!_" cried the mother, sinking down on one of the great stones,
either rolled up by the tide, or left by the masons who built the
ramparts. "Call her father to me."

It was Michel Lorio who found Nicolas, his greatest enemy. Nicolas had
a number of errands to be done in the town, and he was busy impressing
them on the memory of his messenger, who, like every one else, could
neither read nor write. When Michel caught his arm in a sharp, fast
grip, he turned round with a scowl, and tried, but in vain, to shake off
his grasp.

"Come to thy wife," said Michel, dragging him toward the gate;
"Delphine, thy little one, is lost on the sands."

The whole crowd heard the words, for Michel's voice was pitched in a
high, shrill key, which rang above the clamour and the babel. There was
an instant hush, every one listening to Michel, and every eye fastened
upon him. Nicolas stared blankly at him, as if unable to understand him,
yet growing passive under his sense of bewilderment.

"The children who went out with Delphine this morning are come back,"
continued Michel, in the same forced tone; "they are come back without
her. She is lost on the sands. The night is falling, and there is a fog.
I tell you the little one is alone, quite alone, upon the sands; and it
will be high water at six o'clock. Delphine is alone and lost upon the
sands!"

The momentary hush of the crowd was at an end. The children began
crying, and the women calling loudly upon St. Michel and the Holy
Virgin. The men gathered about Nicolas and Michel, and went down in
a compact group to the causeway beyond the gate. There the lurid sun,
shining dimly through the fog, made the most sanguine look grave and
shake their heads hopelessly behind the father and mother. The latter
sat motionless, looking out with straining eyes to see if Delphine were
not coming through the thickening mist.

"_Mais que faire! que faire!_" cried Nicolas, catching at somebody's
shoulder for support without seeing whose it was. It was Michel's,
who had not stirred from his side since he had first clasped his arm.
Michel's face was as white as the mother's; but there was a resolute
light in his eyes that was not to be seen in hers.

"Nothing can be done," answered one of the oldest men in answer to
Nicolas's cry, "nothing, nothing! We do not know where the child is
lost. See! there are leagues and leagues of s