Chris had regretted it, too, for a time, but now that her two brothers
were well on the road to recovery it seemed absurd not to extract such
enjoyment as she could from the situation. Of course, it was lonely, but
there was always Cinders to fall back upon for comfort. She was thankful
that she had insisted upon bringing him, though Mademoiselle had
protested most emphatically against this addition to the party. How she
was to get him back again she had not begun to consider. Doubtless,
however, Jack would manage it somehow. Jack was the aforementioned cousin
in the Guards, a young man of much kindness and resource, upon whom Chris
was wont to rely as a sort of superior elder brother. He would think
nothing of running over to fetch them home and to assist in the smuggling
of Cinders back into his native land. In fact, if the truth were told, he
would probably rather enjoy it.

In the meantime, here was she, stranded with a damaged foot, and all the
delights of the sea temporarily denied to her. Perhaps not quite all,
when she came to think of it. She could not paddle, but she might manage
to hobble down to the shore, and sit on the sun-baked rocks. Even
Mademoiselle could surely find no fault with this. And she might possibly
find someone to talk to. She was so fond of talking, and it was a
perpetual regret to her that she could not understand the speech of the
Breton fishermen.

It was on the morning of the second day after her accident that this idea
presented itself. All the previous day she had sat soberly in a corner of
the little garden that overlooked the little _plage_ where none but
_bonnes_ and their charges ever passed. Nothing had happened all day
long, and she had been bored almost to tears. The beaming smiles of
Mademoiselle, who was thankful to have her within sight, had been no sort
of consolation to her, and on the second day she came rapidly to the