“It’s over anyhow,” said Chris.  “And we are none the worse, are we, Cinders?  So all’s well that ends well, and now I’m going to get something to eat.”

For the next two days, Mademoiselle continuing to be hysterical at intervals, Chris was exemplary in her behaviour.  Perhaps even she had had a surfeit of adventure for the time being.  She certainly had no further urgent desire to explore caves, magic or otherwise.  She was also a little tired, and inclined, after her excitement, to feel proportionately slack.  But early on the morning of the third day her strenuous nature reasserted itself.

The sea and the sunshine awoke her together and she arose and dressed, eager to revel in them both.  She wondered if Bertrand were out in his boat, and rather hoped she might encounter him.

Bertrand, however, was nowhere to be seen, and she proceeded to enjoy her morning bathe in solitude.  It was an enchanting day, and his absence did not depress her.  The tide was low, and she had to wade out a considerable distance through the rippling waves; but she reached deep water at last and proceeded forthwith to enjoy herself to her utmost capacity.

She spent a delicious half-hour thus, and it was with regret that she finally returned to the shallows and began to wade back to the point where Cinders, with her mackintosh, awaited her.

Just beyond this spot was a fair stretch of sand, and she was surprised as she drew nearer to the shore to hear voices and to see a group of men in the blue and red uniform of the garrison gathered upon what she had come to regard as her own particular playground.  She peered at them for some seconds from beneath her hand, for the sun was in her eyes; and suddenly a queer little thrill, that was not quite fear and not solely excitement, ran through her.  For all in a moment, ringing on the still air of early morning, there came to her ears the clash of steel meeting steel.

“Good gracious!” she said aloud.  “It’s a duel!”

A duel it undoubtedly was.  She had a clear view of the whole scene, distant but distinct, could even see the flash of the swords, the rapid movements of the two combatants.  It impressed her like a scene in a theatre.  She did not wholly grasp the reality of it, though her heart was beating very fast.

Knee-deep, she stood in the sparkling water, outlined against the blue of sky and sea, watching.  Several seconds passed, during which they seemed to be fighting with some ferocity.  Then, obeying an impulse of which she was scarcely aware, she moved on through the swishing waves, drawing nearer at every step, hearing every instant more distinctly the ominous clashing of the swords.

When only ankle-deep, she paused again.  Perhaps, after all, it was only a game—­a fencing-match, a trial of skill!  Of course, that must be it!  Was it in the least likely to be anything more serious?  And yet something within told her very decidedly that this was not so.  A trial of skill it might be, but it was being conducted in grim earnest.