“Quite a lot!” Bertrand repeated the phrase musingly as if questioning with himself how much it might mean.

“Yes,” she went on, “we were so lonely till you came.”  She broke off to yawn.  “Do you know, I’m beginning to get sleepy.  Is it the spell, do you think, or only the dark?”

“It is not the spell,” he said, with conviction.

“No?” She moved uneasily.  “I’m not very comfy,” she remarked.  “I wish I were like Cinders.  He can sleep in any position.  It must be so convenient.”

“Will you, then, lean on my shoulder?” Bertrand suggested, with a touch of diffidence.

She accepted the offer with alacrity.  “Oh, yes, if you don’t mind.  It would be better than nodding one’s head off, as if one were in church, wouldn’t it?  But what of you?  Aren’t you sleepy at all?”

“I have no desire to sleep,” he told her gravely.

“Haven’t you?” Chris’s head descended promptly upon his shoulder.  “I’ve never been up all night before,” she said.  “It feels so funny.  How the sea roars!  I wish it wouldn’t.  Bertie, you’re sure there isn’t such a thing as a dragon really, aren’t you?”

His hand closed fast upon hers.  “I am quite sure, cherie.”

“Thank you.  That’s nice,” she murmured.  “I haven’t said my prayers.  Do you think it matters as I’m not going to bed?  I really am tired.”

“No, dear,” he said. “Le bon Dieu understands.”

She moved her head a little.  “Are you going to say yours, Bertie?”

“Perhaps, little one.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said comfortably.  “Good-night!”

“Good-night, cherie!”

His lips were close, so close to her forehead.  He could even feel her hair blow lightly against his face.  But he remained rigid as a sentry—­watchful and silent and still.

Once during that long night she stirred in her sleep—­stirred and nestled closer to him with an inarticulate murmur; and he turned, moving for the first time, and gathered her into his arms, holding her there like an infant against his breast.  Thereafter she slept a calm, unbroken slumber, serenely unconscious of him and serenely content.

And the man sat motionless, with eyes wide to the darkness, grave and reverent as the eyes of a warrior keeping his vigil on the eve of knighthood.  But his heart throbbed all night long like the beat of a drum that calls men into action.

CHAPTER VII

IN THE CAUSE OF A WOMAN

To say that Mademoiselle Gautier was extremely anxious over her young charge’s disappearance would be to state the case with ludicrous mildness.  She was frantic, she was frenzied with anxiety.

All the evening and half the night she was literally dancing with suspense, intermingled with fits of despair that reduced her, while they lasted, to a state of absolute collapse.  Before midnight all Valpre knew that the little English demoiselle was missing, and all Valpre scoured the shore for her in vain.  Some of the fishermen put out in boats and continued the search by moonlight as near the rocks as it was possible to go.  But all to no purpose.