He had her in his arms with the words, holding her lightly and easily, as
if she had been an infant. His eyes smiled reassuringly into hers.

"So, mademoiselle! We depart for Valpré!"

"What fun!" said Chris.

It seemed she was to enjoy her adventure after all, adverse circumstances
notwithstanding. Her foot throbbed and burned, but she put this fact
resolutely away from her. She had found the knight, and, albeit he was
French, she was very pleased with him. He was the prettiest toy that had
ever yet come her way.

Possibly in this respect the knight's sentiments resembled hers. For she
was very enchanting, this English girl, fresh as a rose and gay as a
butterfly, with a face that none called beautiful but which most paused
to admire. It was the vividness, the entrancing vitality of her, that
caught the attention. People smiled almost unwittingly when little Chris
Wyndham turned her laughing eyes their way; they were so clear, so blue,
so confidingly merry. There was a rare sweetness about her, a spontaneous
charm irresistibly winning. She loved everybody without effort, as
naturally as she loved life, with an absence of self-consciousness so
entire that perhaps it was not surprising that she was loved in return.

"You are much stronger than you look, _preux chevalier_," she remarked
presently. "But wouldn't you like to set me down while you go and fetch
my sandals? They are over there on the rocks. It would be a pity for them
to get washed away, and I might manage to walk with them on."