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She saw that he was badly frightened, for his voice trembled as he spoke, and she disengaged herself quietly, and in a curiously calm tone apologized.

“I am very sorry, mon cousin. I hope you will forgive the scare I gave you,” she said, simply.

“Sacré...!” The rest of the heartfelt string of objurgations rising in his throat bumped against his teeth, and he swallowed it whole, so to speak. She had returned a few paces, and, picking up her basket, was standing cold and pale as a lily, scanning the horizon.

“Plenhöel should hire a keeper for you!” Basil cried, with that vengeful irritation which invariably succeeds great frights. “You are not fit to be trusted out alone!”

“Thank you very much, mon bon cousin!” she said, with a little courtesy in his direction. “Not you, I hope, however. He might find you inadequate—and, besides, if you will now take the trouble to look yonder, behind the menhir, you will see Hortense Gervex dozing over her knitting. She is my keeper.”

“A famous guardian!” Basil deprecated in disgust. “As a matter of fact you have jumbled my ideas so that I scarcely remember what I was talking to you about!”