This story differs from others in having an assortment of morals. Most
stories have one moral; here are several. The moral usually appears at
the end--in this case a few are mentioned at the beginning, so that
they may be looked out for as the reading progresses. First: it is well
for a man--especially a young man--to attend to his own business.
Second: in planning a person's life for some little distance ahead, it
will be a mistake if an allowance of ten per cent. at least, is not
made for that unknown quantity--woman. Third: it is beneficial to
remember that one man rarely knows everything. Other morals will
doubtless present themselves, and at the end the cynically-inclined
person may reflect upon the adage about the frying-pan and the fire.
Young M. de Plonville of Paris enjoyed a most enviable position. He had
all the money he needed, which is quite a different thing from saying
he had all the money he wanted. He was well educated, and spoke three
languages, that is, he spoke his own well and the other two badly, but
as a man always prides himself on what he is least able to do, De
Plonville fancied himself a linguist. His courage in speaking English
to Englishmen and German to Germans showed that he was, at least, a
brave man. There was a great deal of good and even of talent in De
Plonville. This statement is made at the beginning, because everyone
who knows De Plonville will at once unhesitatingly contradict it. His
acquaintances thought him one of the most objectionable young men in
Paris, and naval officers, when his name was mentioned, usually gave
themselves over to strong and unjustifiable language. This was all on
account of De Plonville's position, which, although enviable had its
drawbacks.
His rank in the navy was such that it entitled him to no consideration
whatever, but, unfortunately for his own popularity, De Plonville had a
method of giving force to his suggestions. His father was a very big
man in the French Government. He was so big a man that he could send a
censure to the commander of a squadron in the navy, and the commander
dare not talk back. It takes a very big man indeed to do this, and that
was the elder De Plonville's size. But then it was well known that the
elder De Plonville was an easy-going man who loved comfort, and did not
care to trouble himself too much about the navy in his charge, and so
when there was trouble, young De Plonville got the credit of it;
consequently, the love of the officers did not flow out to him.
Often young De Plonville's idiotic impetuosity gave color to these
suspicions. For instance, there is the well-known Toulon incident. In a
heated controversy young De Plonville had claimed that the firing of
the French ironclads was something execrable, and that the whole fleet
could not hold their own at the cannon with any ten of the British
navy. Some time after, the naval officers learned that the Government
at Paris was very much displeased with the inaccurate gun practice of
the fleet, and the hope was expressed that the commander would see his
way to improving it. Of course, the officers could do nothing but gnash
their teeth, try to shoot better, and hope for a time to come when the
Government then in power would be out, and they could find some
tangible pretence for hanging young De Plonville from the yard-arm.
All this has only a remote bearing upon this story, but we now come to
a matter on which the story sinks or swims. De Plonville had a secret--
not such a secret as is common in Parisian life, but one entirely
creditable to him. It related to an invention intended to increase the
efficiency of the French army. The army being a branch of the defences
of his country with which De Plonville had nothing whatever to do, his
attention naturally turned towards it. He spoke of this invention,
once, to a friend, a lieutenant in the army. He expected to get some
practical suggestions. He never mentioned it again to anyone.
"It is based on the principle of the umbrella," he said to his friend;
"in fact, it was the umbrella that suggested it to me. If it could be
made very light so as not to add seriously to the impedimenta at
present carried by the soldier, it seems to me it would be exceedingly
useful. Instead of being circular as an umbrella is, it must be oblong
with sharp ends. It would have to be arranged so as to be opened and
closed quickly, with the cloth thin, but impervious to water. When the
army reached a river each soldier could open this, place it in the
water, enter it with some care, and then paddle himself across with the
butt-end of his gun, or even with a light paddle, if the carrying of it
added but little to the weight, thus saving the building of temporary
bridges. It seems to me such an invention ought to be of vast use in a
forced march. Then at night it might be used as a sort of tent, or in a
heavy rain it would form a temporary shelter. What do you think of the
idea?" His friend had listened with half-closed eyes. He blew a whiff
of cigarette smoke from his nostrils and answered:
"It is wonderful, De Plonville," he said drawlingly. "Its possibilities
are vast--more so than even you appear to think. It would be very
useful in our Alpine corps as well."
"I am glad you think so. But why there?"
"Well, you see, if the army reached a high peak looking into a deep
valley, only to be reached over an inaccessible precipice, all the army
would have to do would be to spread out your superb invention and use
it as a parachute. The sight of the army of France gradually floating
down into the valley would be so terrifying to the nations of Europe,
that I imagine no enemy would wait for a gun to be fired. De Plonville,
your invention will immortalize you, and immortalize the French army."
Young De Plonville waited to hear no more, but turned on his heel and
strode away.
This conversation caused young De Plonville to make two resolutions;
first, to mention his scheme to no one; second, to persevere and
perfect his invention, thus causing confusion to the scoffer. There
were several sub-resolutions dependent on these two. He would not enter
a club, he would abjure society, he would not speak to a woman--he
would, in short, be a hermit until his invention stood revealed before
an astonished world.
All of which goes to show that young De Plonville was not the
conceited, meddlesome fop his acquaintances thought him. But in the
large and small resolutions he did not deduct the ten per cent. for the
unknown quantity.
Where? That was the question. De Plonville walked up and down his room,
and thought it out. A large map of France was spread on the table.
Paris and the environs thereof were manifestly impossible. He needed a
place of seclusion. He needed a stretch of water. Where then should be
the spot to which coming generations would point and say, "Here, at
this place, was perfected De Plonville's celebrated parachute-tent-
bateau invention."
No, not parachute. Hang the parachute! That was the scoffing
lieutenant's word. De Plonville paused for a moment to revile his folly
in making a confidant of any army man.
There was a sufficiency of water around the French coast, but it was
too cold at that season of the year to experiment in the north and
east. There was left the Mediterranean. He thought rapidly of the
different delightful spots along the Riviera--Cannes, St. Raphael,
Nice, Monte Carlo,--but all of these were too public and too much
thronged with visitors. The name of the place came to him suddenly,
and, as he stopped his march to and fro, De Plonville wondered why it
had not suggested itself to him at the very first. Hyères! It seemed to
have been planned in the Middle Ages for the perfecting of just such an
invention. It was situated two or three miles back from the sea, the
climate was perfect, there was no marine parade, the sea coast was
lonely, and the bay sheltered by the islands. It was an ideal spot.
De Plonville easily secured leave of absence. Sons of fathers high up
in the service of a grateful country seldom have any difficulty about a
little thing like that. He purchased a ticket for that leisurely train
which the French with their delicious sense of humor call the "Rapide,"
and in due time found himself with his various belongings standing on
the station platform at Hyères.
Few of us are as brave as we think ourselves. De Plonville flinched
when the supreme moment came, and perhaps that is why the Gods punished
him. He had resolved to go to one of the country inns at Carqueyranne
on the coast, but this was in a heroic mood when the lieutenant had
laughed at his project. Now in a cooler moment he thought of the
cuisine of Carqueyranne and shuddered. There are sacrifices which no
man should be called upon to endure, so the naval officer hesitated,
and at last directed the porter to put his luggage on the top of the
Costebelle Hotel "bus." There would be society at the hotel it is true,
but he could avoid it, while if he went to the rural tavern he could
not avoid the cooking. Thus he smothered his conscience. Lunch at
Costebelle seemed to justify his choice of an abiding-place. The
surroundings of the hotel were dangerously charming to a man whose
natural inclination was towards indolent enjoyment. It was a place to
"Loaf and invite your soul," as Walt Whitman phrases it. Plonville, who
was there incognito, for he had temporarily dropped the "De," strolled
towards the sea in the afternoon, with the air of one who has nothing
on his mind. No one to see him would have suspected he was the future
Edison of France. When he reached the coast at the ruins of the ancient
Roman naval station called Pomponiana, he smote his thigh with joy. He
had forgotten that at this spot there had been erected a number of
little wooden houses, each larger than a bathing-machine and smaller
than a cottage, which were used in summer by the good people of Hyères,
and in winter were silently vacant. The largest of these would be
exactly the place for him, and he knew he would have no difficulty in
renting it for a month or two. Here, he could bring down his half-
finished invention; here, work at it all day unmolested; and here test
its sailing qualities with no onlookers.
He walked up the road, and hailed the ancient bus which jogs along
between Toulon and Hyères by way of the coast; mounted beside the
driver, and speedily got information about the owner of the cottages at
Pomponiana.
As he expected, he had no difficulty in arranging with the proprietor
for the largest of the little cottages, but he thought he detected a
slight depression on the right eyelid as that person handed him the
key. Had the owner suspected his purpose? he asked himself anxiously,
as he drove back from the town to Costebelle. Impossible. He felt,
however, that he could not be too secret about his intentions. He had
heard of inventors being forestalled just at the very moment of
success.
He bade the driver wait, and placed that part of his luggage in the cab
which consisted of his half-finished invention and the materials for
completing it. Then he drove to the coast, and after placing the
packages on the ground, paid and dismissed the man. When the cab was
out of sight, he carried the things to the cottage and locked them in.
His walk up the hill to the hotel rendered the excellent dinner
provided doubly attractive.
Next morning he was early at work, and speedily began to realize how
many necessary articles he had forgotten at Paris. He hoped he would be
able to get them at Hyères, but his remembrance of the limited
resources of the town made him somewhat doubtful. The small windows on
each side gave him scarcely enough light, but he did not open the door,
fearing the curiosity of a chance passer-by. One cannot be too careful
in maturing a great invention.
Plonville had been at work for possibly an hour and a half, when he
heard someone singing, and that very sweetly. She sang with the joyous
freedom of one who suspected no listener. The song came nearer and
nearer. Plonville standing amazed, dropped his implements, and stole to
the somewhat obscure little window. He saw a vision of fresh loveliness
dressed in a costume he never before beheld on a vision. She came down
the bank with a light, springy step to the next cottage, took a key
that hung at her belt, and threw open the door. The song was hushed,
but not silenced, for a moment, and then there came from out the
cottage door the half of a boat that made Plonville gasp. Like the
costume, he had never before seen such a boat. It was exactly the shape
in which he had designed his invention, and was of some extra light
material, for the sylph-like girl in the extraordinary dress pushed it
forth without even ceasing her song. Next moment, she came out herself
and stood there while she adjusted her red head-gear. She drew the boat
down to the water, picked out of it a light, silver-mounted paddle,
stepped deftly aboard, and settled down to her place with the airy
grace of a thistle-down. There was no seat in the boat, Plonville noted
with astonishment. The sea was very smooth, and a few strokes of the
paddle sent girl and craft out of sight along the coast. Plonville drew
a deep breath of bewilderment. It was his first sight of a Thames
boating costume and a canoe.
This, then, was why the man winked when he gave him the key. Plonville
was in a quandary. Should he reveal himself when she returned? It did
not seem to be quite the thing to allow the girl to believe she had the
coast to herself when in fact she hadn't. But then there was his
invention to think of. He had sworn allegiance to that. He sat down and
pondered. English, evidently. He had no idea English girls were so
pretty, and then that costume! It was _very_ taking. The rich,
creamy folds of the white flannel, so simple, yet so complete, lingered
in his memory. Still, what was he there for? His invention certainly.
The sneer of the lieutenant stung his memory. That Miss Whatever-her-
name-might-be had rented the next box was nothing to him; of course
not. He waved her aside and turned to his work. He had lost enough of
time as it was; he would lose no more.
Although armed with this heroic resolution, his task somehow did not
seem so interesting as before, and he found himself listening now and
then for the siren's song. He dramatized imaginary situations, which is
always bad for practical work. He saw the frail craft shattered or
overturned, and beheld himself bravely buffeting the waves rescuing the
fair girl in white. Then he remembered with a sigh that he was not a
good swimmer. Possibly she was more at home in the waves than he was.
Those English seemed on such terms of comradeship with the sea.
At last, intuition rather than hearing told him she had returned. He
walked on tip-toe to the dingy window. She was pulling the light canoe
up from the water. He checked his impulse to offer assistance. When the
girl sprang lightly up the bank, Plonville sighed and concluded he had
done enough work for the day. As he reached the road, he noticed that
the white figure in the distance did not take the way to the hotel, but
towards one of the neighboring Chateaux.
In the afternoon, Plonville worked long at his invention, and made
progress. He walked back to his hotel with the feeling of self-
satisfaction which indolent men have on those rare occasions when they
are industrious. He had been uninterrupted, and his resolutions were
again heroic. What had been done one afternoon might be done all
afternoons. He would think no more of the vision he had seen and he
would work only after lunch, thus avoiding the necessity of revealing
himself, or of being a concealed watcher of her actions. Of course she
came always in the morning, for the English are a methodical people,
and Plonville was so learned in their ways that he knew what they did
one day they were sure to do the next. An extraordinary nation,
Plonville said to himself with a shrug of his shoulders, but then of
course, we cannot all be French.
It is rather a pity that temptation should step in just when a man has
made up his mind not to deviate from a certain straight line of
conduct. There was to be a ball that night at the big hotel. Plonville
had refused to have anything to do with it. He had renounced the
frivolities of life. He was there for rest, quiet, and study. He was
adamant. That evening the invitation was again extended to him, the
truth being that there was a scarcity of young men, as is usually the
case at such functions. Plonville was about to re-state his objections
to frivolity when through the open door he caught a glimpse of two of
the arriving guests ascending the stair. The girl had on a long opera
cloak with some fluffy white material round the neck and down the
front. A filmy lace arrangement rested lightly on her fair hair. It was
the lady of the canoe--glorified. Plonville wavered and was lost. He
rushed to his room and donned his war paint. Say what you like, evening
dress improves the appearance of a man. Besides this, he had resumed
the De once more, and his back was naturally straighter. De Plonville
looked well.
They were speedily introduced, of course. De Plonville took care of
that, and the manager of the ball was very grateful to him for coming,
and for looking so nice. There was actually an air of distinction about
De Plonville. She was the Hon. Margaret Stansby, he learned. Besides
being unfair, it would be impossible to give their conversation. It
would read like a section from Ollendorf's French-English exercises. De
Plonville, as has been said, was very proud of his English, and,
unfortunately, the Hon. Margaret had a sense of humor. He complimented
her by saying that she talked French even better than he talked
English, which, while doubtless true, was not the most tactful thing De
Plonville might have said. It was difficult to listen to such a
statement given in his English, and refrain from laughing. Margaret,
however, scored a great victory and did not laugh. The evening passed
pleasantly, she thought; delightfully, De Plonville thought.
It was hard after this to come down to the prosaic work of completing a
cloth canoe-tent, but, to De Plonville's credit, he persevered. He met
the young lady on several occasions, but never by the coast. The better
they became acquainted the more he wished to have the privilege of
rescuing her from some deadly danger; but the opportunity did not come.
It seldom does, except in books, as he bitterly remarked to himself.
The sea was exasperatingly calm, and Miss Margaret was mistress of her
craft, as so many charming women are. He thought of buying a telescope
and watching her, for she had told him that one of her own delights was
looking at the evolutions of the ironclads through a telescope on the
terrace in front of the Chateau.
At last, in spite of his distractions, De Plonville added the finishing
touches to his notable invention, and all that remained was to put it
to a practical test. He chose a day when that portion of the French
navy which frequents the Rade d'Hyères was not in sight, for he did not
wish to come within the field of the telescope at the Chateau terrace.
He felt that he would not look his best as he paddled his new-fangled
boat. Besides, it might sink with him.
There was not a sail in sight as he put forth. Even the fishing boats
of Carqueyranne were in shelter. The sea was very calm, and the sun
shone brightly. He had some little difficulty in getting seated, but he
was elated to find that his invention answered all expectations. As he
went further out he noticed a great buoy floating a long distance away.
His evil genius suggested that it would be a good thing to paddle out
to the buoy and back. Many men can drink champagne and show no sign,
but few can drink success and remain sober. The eccentric airs assumed
by noted authors prove the truth of this. De Plonville was drunk, and
never suspected it. The tide, what little there is of it in the
Mediterranean, helped him, and even the gentle breeze blew from the
shore. He had some doubts as to the wisdom of his course before he
reached the gigantic red buoy, but when he turned around and saw the
appalling distance to the coast, he shuddered.
The great buoy was of iron, apparently boiler plate, and there were
rings fastened to its side. It was pear-shaped with the point in the
water, fastened to a chain that evidently led to an anchor. He wondered
what it was for. As he looked up it was moved by some unseen current,
and rolled over as if bent on the destruction of his craft. Forgetting
himself, he sprang up to ward it off, and instantly one foot went
through the thin waterproof that formed the bottom and sides of his
boat. He found himself struggling in the water almost before he
realized what had happened. Kicking his foot free from the entanglement
that threatened to drag him under, he saw his invention slowly settle
down through the clear, green water. He grasped one of the rings of the
buoy, and hung there for a moment to catch his breath and consider his
position. He rapidly came to the conclusion that it was not a pleasant
one, but further than that he found it difficult to go. Attempting to
swim ashore would be simply one form of suicide. The thing to do was
evidently to get on top of the buoy, but he realized that if he tried
to pull himself up by the rings it would simply roll him under. He was
surprised to find, however, that such was not the case. He had under-
estimated both its size and its weight.
He sat down on top of it and breathed heavily after his exertions,
gazing for a few moments at the vast expanse of shimmering blue water.
It was pretty, but discouraging. Not even a fishing-boat was in sight,
and he was in a position where every prospect pleases, and only man is
in a vile situation. The big iron island had an uncomfortable habit
every now and then of lounging partly over to one side or the other, so
that De Plonville had to scramble this way or that to keep from falling
off. He vaguely surmised that his motions on these occasions lacked
dignity. The hot sun began to dry the clothes on his back, and he felt
his hair become crisp with salt. He recollected that swimming should be
easy here, for he was on the saltest portion of the saltest open sea in
the world. Then his gaze wandered over the flat lands about Les Salins
where acres of ground were covered artificially with Mediterranean
water so that the sun may evaporate it, and leave the coarse salt used
by the fishermen of the coast. He did not yet feel hungry, but he
thought with regret of the good dinner which would be spread at the
hotel that evening, when, perhaps, he would not be there.
He turned himself around and scanned the distant Islands of Gold, but
there was as little prospect of help from that quarter as from the
mainland. Becoming more accustomed to the swayings of the big globe, he
stood up. What a fool he had been to come so far, and he used French
words between his teeth that sounded terse and emphatic. Still there
was little use thinking of that. Here he was, and here he would stay,
as a President of his country had once remarked. The irksomeness and
restraint of his position began to wear on his nerves, and he cried
aloud for something--anything--to happen rather than what he was
enduring.
Something happened.
From between the Islands, there slowly appeared a great modern French
ship of war, small in the distance. Hope lighted up the face of De
Plonville. She must pass near enough to enable his signalling to be
seen by the lookout. Heavens! how leisurely she moved! Then a second
war vessel followed the first into view, and finally a third. The three
came slowly along in stately procession. De Plonville removed his coat
and waved it up and down to attract attention. So intent was he upon
this that he nearly lost his footing, and, realizing that the men-of-
war were still too far away, he desisted. He sat down as his excitement
abated, and watched their quiet approach. Once it seemed to him they
had stopped, and he leaned forward, shading his eyes with his hand, and
watched them eagerly. They were just moving--that was all.
Suddenly, from the black side of the foremost battle-ship, there rolled
upward a cloud of white smoke, obscuring the funnels and the rigging,
thinning out into the blue sky over the top-masts. After what seemed a
long interval the low, dull roar of a cannon reached him, followed by
the echo from the high hills of the island, and later by the fainter
re-echo from the mountains on the mainland. This depressed De
Plonville, for, if the ships were out for practice, the obscuring smoke
around them would make the seeing of his signalling very improbable;
and then that portion of the fleet might return the way it came,
leaving him in his predicament. From the second ironclad arose a
similar cloud, and this time far to his left there spurted up from the
sea a jet of water, waving in the air like a plume for a moment, then
dropping back in a shower on the ruffled surface.
The buoy was a target!
As De Plonville realized its use, he felt that uncomfortable creeping
of the scalp which we call, the hair standing on end. The third cannon
sent up its cloud, and De Plonville's eyes extended at what they saw.
Coming directly towards him was a cannon ball, skipping over the water
like a thrown pebble. His experience in the navy--at Paris--had never
taught him that such a thing was possible. He slid down flat on the
buoy, till his chin rested on the iron, and awaited the shock. A
hundred yards from him the ball dipped into the water and disappeared.
He found that he had ineffectually tried to drive his nails into the
boiler plate, until his fingers' ends were sore. He stood up and waved
his arms, but the first vessel fired again, and the ball came shrieking
over him so low that he intuitively ducked his head. Like a pang of
physical pain, the thought darted through his brain that he had
instigated a censure on the bad firing of these very boats. Doubtless
they saw a man on the buoy, but as no man had any business there, the
knocking of him off by a cannon ball would be good proof of accuracy of
aim. The investigation which followed would be a feather in the cap of
the officer in charge, whatever the verdict. De Plonville, with
something like a sigh, more than suspected that his untimely death
would not cast irretrievable gloom over the fleet.
Well, a man has to die but once, and there is little use in making a
fuss over the inevitable. He would meet his fate calmly and as a
Frenchman should, with his face to the guns. There was a tinge of
regret that there would be no one to witness his heroism. It is always
pleasant on such occasions to have a war correspondent, or at least a
reporter, present. It is best to be as comfortable as possible under
any circumstances, so De Plonville sat down on the spheroid and let his
feet dangle toward the water. The great buoy for some reason floated
around until it presented its side to the ships. None of the balls came
so near as those first fired--perhaps because of the accumulated smoke.
New features of the situation continued to present themselves to De
Plonville as he sat there. The firing had been going on for some time
before he reflected that if a shot punctured the buoy it would fill and
sink. Perhaps their orders were to fire until the buoy disappeared.
There was little comfort in this suggestion.
Firing had ceased for some minutes before he noticed the fact. A bank
of thinning smoke rested on the water between the buoy and the ships.
He saw the ironclads move ponderously around and steam through this
bank turning broadside on again in one, two, three, order. He watched
the evolution with his chin resting on his hands, not realizing that
the moment for signalling had come. When the idea penetrated his
somewhat dazed mind, he sprang to his feet, but his opportunity had
gone. The smoke of the first gun rose in the air, there was a clang of
iron on iron, and De Plonville found himself whirling in space: then
sinking in the sea. Coming breathless to the surface, he saw the buoy
revolving slowly, and a deep dinge in its side seemed to slide over its
top and disappear into the water, showing where the shot had struck.
The second boat did not fire, and he knew that they were examining the
buoy with their glasses. He swam around to the other side, intending to
catch a ring and have it haul him up where he could be seen. Before he
reached the place the buoy was at rest again, and as he laboriously
climbed on top more dead than alive, the second ship opened fire. He
lay down at full length exhausted, and hoped if they were going to hit
they would hit quick. Life was not worth having on these conditions. He
felt the hot sun on his back, and listened dreamily to the cannon. Hope
was gone, and he wondered at himself for feeling a remote rather than
an active interest in his fate. He thought of himself as somebody else,
and felt a vague impersonal pity. He criticised the random firing, and
suspected the hit was merely a fluke. When his back was dry he rolled
lazily over and lay gazing up at the cloudless sky. For greater comfort
he placed his hands beneath his head. The sky faded, and a moment's
unconsciousness intervened.
"This won't do," he cried, shaking himself. "If I fall asleep I shall
roll off."
He sat up again, his joints stiff with his immersion, and watched the
distant ironclads. He saw with languid interest a ball strike the
water, take a new flight, and plunge into the sea far to the right. He
thought that the vagaries of cannon-balls at sea would make an
interesting study.
"Are you injured?" cried a clear voice behind him.
"_Mon Dieu!_" shouted the young man in a genuine fright, as he
sprang to his feet.
"Oh, I beg pardon," as if a rescuer need apologize, "I thought you were
M. De Plonville."
"I _am_ De Plonville."
"Your hair is grey," she said in an awed whisper; then added, "and no
wonder."
"Mademoiselle," replied the stricken young man, placing his hand on his
heart, "it is needless to deny--I do not deny--that I was frightened--
but--I did not think--not so much as that, I regret. It is so--so--
theatrical--I am deeply sorrowful."
"Please say no more, but come quickly. Can you come down? Step exactly
in the middle of the canoe. Be careful--it is easily upset--and sit
down at once. That was very nicely done."
"Mademoiselle, allow me at least to row the boat."
"It is paddling, and you do not understand it. I do. Please do not
speak until we are out of range. I am horribly frightened."
"You are very, very brave."
"Hs--s--sh."
Miss Stansby wielded the double-bladed paddle in a way a Red Indian
might have envied. Once she uttered a little feminine shriek as a
cannon ball plunged into the water behind them; but as they got further
away from the buoy those on the iron-clads appeared to notice that a
boat was within range, and the firing ceased.
Miss Stansby looked fixedly at the solemn young man sitting before her;
then placed her paddle across the canoe, bent over it, and laughed. De
Plonville saw the reaction had come. He said sympathetically:--
"Ah, Mademoiselle, do not, I beg. All danger is over, I think."
"I am not frightened, don't think it," she cried, flashing a look of
defiance at him, and forgetting her admission of fear a moment before.
"My father was an Admiral. I am laughing at my mistake. It is salt."
"What is?" asked her astonished passenger.
"In your hair."
He ran his fingers through his hair, and the salt rattled down to the
bottom of the canoe. There was something of relief in _his_ laugh.
* * * * *
De Plonville always believes the officers on board the gunboats
recognized him. When it was known in Paris that he was to be married to
the daughter of an English Admiral, whom rumor said he had bravely
saved from imminent peril, the army lieutenant remarked that she could
never have heard him speak her language--which, as we know, is not
true.