“How quick you are!” she murmured presently.  “Whatever is it, I wonder?  A horse with a man on it!  Ah, yes!  St. George killing the dragon!  Excellent!” She clapped her hands.  “It is a real picture.  What a pity for it to be washed away!”

“The destiny of all things, mademoiselle,” he remarked, still elaborating his work.

“Not all things!” she exclaimed.  “Look at the Sphinx, and Cleopatra’s Needle, and—­and a host of other things!”

“You think that they will endure for ever?” he said.

“For a very, very long while,” she maintained.

“But for ever, mademoiselle?” He turned round to her, quite serious for once.  “There is only one thing that endures for ever,” he said.

Chris frowned.  “I don’t want to think about it.  It makes me feel giddy,” she said.  “Please go on drawing.  The tide won’t be up yet.”

He turned back again instantly, looking quizzical. “Alors, shall we build a barrier of stones and arrest the sea?” he suggested.

“Or weave a rope of sand,” amended Chris.

CHAPTER IV

THE DIVINE MAGIC

When Chris went bathing it was her custom to slip a mackintosh over her bathing costume and to run down to the shore thus equipped, discarding the mackintosh before entering the water and leaving it in the charge of Cinders.

Cinders never went treasure-hunting on these occasions, but invariably sat bolt upright, brimful of importance, watching his mistress’s proceedings from afar with eager eyes and quivering nose.  He would never be persuaded to follow her, owing to a rooted objection to wetting his feet.  He was, as a rule, very patient; but if she kept him waiting beyond the bounds of patience he howled in a heartrending fashion that always brought her back.

Chris was a good swimmer, and had a boy’s healthy love of the sea.  Great was her joy when her injured foot healed sufficiently for her to resume the morning bathe.  Mademoiselle Gautier’s pleasure was not so keen, but then—­poor Mademoiselle!—­who could expect it?  Besides, what could she know of the exquisite enjoyment of floating on a summer sea with the summer sun in one’s eyes and wave after gentle wave rocking one to drowsy content?

The only drawback was the impossibility of diving, Chris longed for a dive on that brilliant morning, longed for the headlong rush through water, the greenness of it below the surface, the sparkling spray above.  If only she could have commandeered a boat!  But that would have entailed a boatman, and Mademoiselle would have been scandalized at the bare suggestion.

“She would make me bathe in a coat and skirt and a hat if she could,” reflected Chris, shaking the wet hair out of her eyes.