for tea."

He stood motionless on the sunlit sand and watched her go.

She was limping, but she moved quickly notwithstanding. Cinders trotted
soberly by her side.

As she reached the little _plage_, she turned as if aware of his watching
eyes and nonchalantly waved the towel that dangled on her arm. The
sunlight had turned her hair to burnished copper. It made her for the
moment wonderful, and a gleam of swift admiration shot across the
Frenchman's face.

"_Merveilleux_!" he whispered to himself, and half-aloud, "Good-bye,
little bird of Paradise!"

With a courteous gesture of farewell, he turned away. When he looked
again, the child, with her glorious, radiant hair, had passed from sight.

He went back, springing over the rocks, to the Gothic archway that had
fired her curiosity. The tide was rising fast. Already the white foam
raced up to the rocky entrance. He splashed through it, and went within
as one on business bent.

He was absent for some seconds, and soon a large wave broke with a long
roar and rushed swirling into the cave. As the gleaming water ran out
again, he emerged.

A single glance was sufficient to show him that retreat by way of the
beach was already cut off. He recognized the fact with a rueful grimace.