It has a little beach of gravel where
people bathe all day long. When one's tired of bathing, there are the
cliffs and the downs, and in the evening there's the casino. You know
French, Mr. Lester?"
"Why," I explained, "I was supposed to study it at college. I still
remember my '_j'ai, tu a, il a_.'"
"You'll remember more when you get to Etretat," she laughed. "You'll
have to, or starve."
"Oh, I also know the phrase made immortal by Mark Twain."
"'_Avez-vous du vin?_'--yes."
"And I think I also have a hazy recollection of the French equivalents
for bread and butter and cheese and meat. We shan't starve--besides, I
think Mr. Royce can help. He's been to France."
"Of course--and here he comes to claim his chair."
"I won't permit him to claim it if you'll use it a little longer," I
protested.
"Oh, but I must be going," and she arose, laughing. "Have I been a
satisfactory entertainer?"
"More than satisfactory; I'll accept no other."
"But you won't need any at all, after this morning--I don't really
believe you're ill now!"
She nodded to Royce, and moved away without waiting for my answer,
which somehow halted on my lips; and so I was left to the rosiest, the
most improbable of day dreams.
Saturday, Sunday, and Monday passed, with only such incidents to
enliven them as are common to all voyages.
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