He had brought her safely over the most difficult part of the way. He
seated her at once upon a flat rock, and stooped to assure himself as to
the success of his bandage.

"It gives you not so much of pain, no?" he asked.

"It scarcely hurts at all," she assured him. "You will be quick now,
won't you, because I ought to be getting back. If you see Cinders, you
might bring him too."

"Cinders?" he questioned, pausing.

"My dog," she explained. "But he doesn't talk French, so I don't suppose
he will follow you."

He received the information with a smile. "But I speak English,
mademoiselle," he protested for the second time.

"Ah yes, you do--after a fashion," admitted Chris. "But I don't suppose
Cinders would understand it. It's not very English English."

He raised his shoulders in a gesture that was purely French. "_La belle
dame sans merci_!" he murmured ruefully. "_Bien_! I will do my possible."

"Splendid!" laughed Chris. "No one could do more."

She watched him go with eyes that sparkled with merriment. The trim,
slight figure was quite good to look upon. He went bounding over the
rocks with the sure-footed grace of a chamois.