Had the Frenchman laughed at that moment he would have made an enemy for life.  But most fortunately he did not regard an antagonist’s downfall as a fit subject for mirth.  In fact, being of a chivalrous turn, he grabbed at the luckless Cinders, clutched his collar, and dragged him up again.  And—­perhaps it was the generosity of the action, perhaps only its obvious fearlessness—­he won Cinders’ heart from that instant.  His hostility merged into sudden ardent friendship.  He set his paws on the young man’s chest, and licked his face.

Thenceforth he was more than welcome to sandals and towel and even the effusive Cinders himself, who leaped around him barking in high delight, and accompanied him with giddy circlings upon his return journey.

Chris, who had viewed the encounter from afar with much interest, clapped her hands at their approach.

“And you weren’t a bit afraid!” she laughed.  “I couldn’t think what you would do.  Cinders looked so fierce.  But any one can see you understand dogs—­even English dogs.”

“It is possible that at heart the English and the French resemble each other more than we think, mademoiselle,” observed the Frenchman.  “One can never tell.”

He bent again over the injured foot with the sandal in his hand.

“It’s very good of you to take all this trouble,” said Chris abruptly.

He flashed her a quick smile.  “But no, mademoiselle!  It gives me pleasure to be of service to you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what I should have done without you,” she rejoined.  “Ah, that is much better.  I shall be able to walk now.”

“You think it?” He looked at her doubtfully.

She nodded.  “If you will take me as far as the sand, I shall do splendidly then.  You see, I can’t let you come into Valpre with me because—­because—­”

“Because, mademoiselle—?” Up went the black brows questioningly.

She flushed a little, but her clear eyes met his with absolute candour.  “We have a French governess,” she explained, “who was brought up in a convent, so she is very easily shocked.  If she knew that I had spoken to a stranger, and a man”—­she raised her hands with a merry gesture—­“she would have a fit—­several fits.  I couldn’t risk it.  Poor mademoiselle!  She doesn’t understand our English ways a bit.  Why, she wouldn’t even let me paddle if she could help it.  I shall have to keep very quiet about this foot of mine, or it will be ‘Jamais encore!’ and ’Encore jamais!’ for the rest of my natural life.  And, after all,” pathetically, “there can be no great harm in dipping one’s feet in sea-water, can there?”

But the Frenchman looked grave.  “You will show your foot to the doctor, will you not?” he said.

“Dear me, no!” said Chris.

“Mais, mademoiselle—­”

She checked him with her quick, winning smile.

“Please don’t talk French.  I like English so much the best.  Besides, it’s holiday-time.”