"Oh, it has a little tail behind--like a fish!" she cried, enchanted.
"I shall look like the silver grilse of Quimperlé!"
"Do you think you can swim in those scales?" I asked.
"Swim? I--Jacqueline? Attendez un peu--you shall see!"
She laughed an excited, confident little laugh and hugged Ange Pitou,
who closed his eyes in ecstasy sheathing and unsheathing his sharp
claws.
"It is almost sunrise," I said.
"It lacks many minutes to sunrise," she replied. "Ask Ange Pitou. At
sunrise he leaves me; nothing can hold him; he does not bite or
scratch, he just pushes and pulls until my arms are tired. Then he
goes. It is always so."
"Why does he do that?"
"Ask him. I have often asked, but he never tells me--do you, my
friend? I think he's a moor-sprite--perhaps a devil. Do devils hate
all kinds of water?"
"No, only holy water," I replied.
"Well, then, he's something else. Look! Look! He is beginning! See
him push to get free, see him drive his furry head into my hands. The
sun is coming up out of the sea! It will soon be here."
She opened her arms; the cat sprang to the doorstep and vanished.
Jacqueline looked at the swimming-suit, then at me. "Will you go down
to the beach, M'sieu Scarlett?"
But I had not traversed half the strip of rock and hard sand before
something flew past--a slim, glittering shape which suddenly doubled
up, straightened again, and fell headlong into the thundering surf.
The waves hurled her from crest to crest, clothing her limbs in froth;
the singing foam rolled her over and over, stranding her on bubbling
sands, until the swell found her again, lifted her, and tossed her
seaward into the wide, white arms of the breakers.
Back to land she drifted and scrambled up on the beach, a slender,
drenched figure, glistening and flashing with every movement.
Dainty of limb as a cat in wet grass, she shook the spray from her
fingers and scrubbed each palm with sand, then sprang again headlong
into the surf; there was a flash, a spatter, and she vanished.
After a long, long while, far out on the water she rose, floating.
Now the red sun, pushing above the ocean's leaden rim, flung its
crimson net across the water. String after string of white-breasted
sea-ducks beat to windward from the cove, whirling out to sea; the
gray gulls flapped low above the shoal and settled in rows along the
outer bar, tossing their sun-tipped wings; the black cormorant on the
cliff craned its hideous neck, scanning the ocean with restless,
brilliant eyes.
Tossed back once more upon the beach like an opalescent shell,
Jacqueline, ankle-deep in foam, looked out across the flaming waters,
her drenched hair dripping.
From the gorse on cliff and headland, one by one the larks shot
skyward like amber rockets, trailing a shower of melody till the whole
sky rained song. The crested vanneaux, passing out to sea, responded
plaintively, flapping their bronze-green wings.
The girl twisted her hair and wrung it till the last salt drop had
fallen. Sitting there in the sands, idle fingers cracking the pods of
gilded sea-weed, she glanced up at me and laughed contentedly.
Presently she rose and walked out to a high ledge, motioning me to
follow. Far below, the sun-lit water shimmered in a shallow basin of
silver sand.
"Look!" she cried, flinging her arms above her head, and dropped into
space, falling like a star, down, down into the shallow sea. Far below
I saw a streak of living light shoot through the water--on, on, closer
to the surface now, and at last she fairly sprang into the air,
quivering like a gaffed salmon, then fell back to float and clear her
blue eyes from her tangled hair.
She gave me a glance full of malice as she landed, knowing quite well
that she had not only won, but had given me a shock with her long dive
into scarce three feet of water.
Presently she climbed to the sun-warmed hillock of sand and sat down
beside me to dry her hair.
A langouste, in his flaming scarlet coat of mail, passed through a
glassy pool among the rocks, treading sedately on pointed claws; the
lançons tunnelled the oozing beach under her pink feet, like streams
of living quicksilver; the big, blue sea-crabs sidled off the reef,
sheering down sideways into limpid depths. Landward the curlew walked
in twos and threes, swinging their long sickle bills; the sea-swallows
drove by like gray snow-squalls, melting away against the sky; a
vitreous living creature, blazing with purest sapphire light, floated
past under water.
Ange Pitou, coveting a warm sun-bath in the sand, came wandering along
pretending not to see us; but Jacqueline dragged him into her arms for
a hug, which lasted until Ange Pitou broke loose, tail hoisted but
ears deaf to further flattery.
So Jacqueline chased Ange Pitou back across the sand and up the rocky
path, pursuing her pet from pillar to post with flying feet that fell
as noiselessly as the velvet pads of Ange Pitou.
"Come to the net-shed, if you please!" she called back to me,
pointing to a crazy wooden structure built above the house.
As I entered the net-shed the child was dragging a pile of sea-nets to
the middle of the floor.
"In case I fall," she said, coolly.
"Better let me arrange them, then," I said, glancing up at the
improvised trapeze which dangled under the roof-beams.
She thanked me, seized a long rope, and went up, hand over hand. I
piled the soft nets into a mattress, but decided to stand near, not
liking the arrangements.
Meanwhile Jacqueline was swinging, head downward, from her trapeze.
Her cheeks flamed as she twisted and wriggled through a complicated
manoeuvre, which ended by landing her seated on the bar of the trapeze
a trifle out of breath. With both hands resting on the ropes, she
started herself swinging, faster, faster, then pretended to drop off
backward, only to catch herself with her heels, substitute heels for
hands, and hang. Doubling back on her own body, she glided to her
perch beneath the roof, shook her damp hair back, set the trapeze
flying, and curled up on the bar, resting as fearlessly and securely
as a bullfinch in a tree-top.
Above her the red-and-black wasps buzzed and crawled and explored the
sun-scorched beams. Spiders watched her from their silken hammocks,
and the tiny cliff-mice scuttled from beam to beam. Through the open
door the sunshine poured a flood of gold over the floor where the
bronzed nets were spread. Mending was necessary; she mentioned it, and
set herself swinging again, crossing her feet.
"You think you could drop from there into a tank of water?" I asked.
"How deep?"
"Say four feet."
She nodded, swinging tranquilly.
"Have you any fear at all, Jacqueline?"
"No."
"You would try whatever I asked you to try?"
"If I thought I could," she replied, naïvely.
"But that is not it. I am to be your master. You must have absolute
confidence in me and obey orders instantly."
"Like a soldier?"
"Exactly."
"Bien."
"Then hang by your hands!"
Quick as a flash she hung above me.
"You trust me, Jacqueline?"
"Yes."
"Then drop!"
Down she flashed like a falling meteor. I caught her with that quick
trick known to all acrobats, which left her standing on my knee.
"Jump!"
She sprang lightly to the heap of nets, lost her balance, stumbled,
and sat down very suddenly. Then she threw back her head and laughed;
peal on peal of deliciously childish laughter rang through the ancient
net-shed, until, overhead, the passing gulls echoed her mirth with
querulous mewing, and the sea-hawk, towering to the zenith, wheeled
and squealed.