Cynthia shook her head. “But I knew something must happen if she got a whiff of this. It would have pulled a mummy back to life. Ah, here’s Leonie.” The child’s mother had appeared beside her, holding her hand. She at least was not unaware that the American Mees had done something, though she wasn’t quite sure what, for her petite. “Thank you,” she murmured in shy, halting English; then, that proving to be all she knew, she broke into fluid French which almost stumped Nancy to translate. “She asks,” interpreted Miss Brewster, “if there is anything she can do for the pretty American ... make a bow, Cindy ... She says she is very grateful to you and that it was very naughty for her Leonie to go up on the stage like that, before all the village. I’ve told her that we will come tomorrow to pay our respects to Leonie’s household. We’ll bring Mother along, too. That all sounds sufficiently formal.” They streamed out into the fan of light across the cobbled road. The white caps and dark dresses of the audience melted behind them into darkness. The night was sweet and warm and there was a sound of the sea on the rocks, far off. “Good night,” called Cynthia. “Good night!” then slipped her hand into Nancy’s arm. “There,” said Nancy, “is your Christmas cover, my dear, and in such a funny way.” “_Aitchoo!_” sneezed Cynthia in eloquent reply. CHAPTER 4 _Mont St. Michel_ “LITTLE MISS FIX-IT” Nancy’s mother, who as a young art student had lived in France, knew all the places that Cynthia, as a younger art student, ought to see and go. “Don’t,” she told Cynthia, “despise the well-worn routes just because they are well-worn. Later on you can go to the out of the way places too. But you need the talked-about places as a basis for comparison, just as you need to know black and white in order to paint color.” The idea interested Cynthia. “What do you call the well-worn places.” “Mother means those that are full of tourists and trippers,” explained Nancy. “Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Brewster, “Just the sort of places you saw in Paris. The Louvre, the tomb of Napoleon, Montmartre, the Arc de Triomphe. You don’t need to rush through them, Baedecker in hand--though a guidebook is always useful--like the American couple out of Punch. ‘You see the outside Marthy, and I’ll see the inside, and we’ll cut the time in half.’” Cynthia laughed. She knew those tourists, so intent on gathering data to relate at home that they were blind to real beauty, to all the little local color and pleasant customs of the people. “But besides Paris, what would you suggest?” “Well, there’s Carcassonne, of course.” “Oh _yes!_” agreed Cynthia. Carcassonne had been on her list too. “Then I think you should see a bit of the Basque country. It’s lovely, though it has become a little self-conscious lately, with so many books being written about it.”