Divyne, the methodical Bretonne, left the room, slowly descended the main stairs, and went out by the _perron_. The wind had fallen to a breeze, singing now over the waves, and murmuring in the thick mantle of ivy luxuriantly draping the portion of the walls at the foot of which she generally took her charge for an airing. The baby, vexed, doubtless, at being removed with so little ceremony from his mother’s room, was fretful, and Divyne glanced quickly around to see if the footman specially detailed for that service had disposed the big white rug and the toys in their accustomed place. But, no, this had not been done, and she began to call him at the top of her voice. There was no answer; the noise of the surf below was too loud to permit a lesser sound to penetrate into the Castle, so the Bretonne retraced her steps and went quickly to a side passage leading to the servants’ hall. “Louis!” she cried. “Hé! Louis!--Pierre! Jean-Marie!” She tried again, hoping that another of the footmen on duty would hear her, but this collective call remained unanswered, too, and, getting impatient, Divyne placed little Pavlo very carefully on the thick rug and ran to the farther end of the corridor to bawl out at better advantage. At last she heard, from the depths of beyond, manly accents responding, “_Présent, Mam’selle Divyne!_” It was the recreant Louis coming at full speed, and Divyne went to pick baby up from the rug. And then the footman heard a shriek that lent wings to his feet. The baby was gone. * * * * * “Will you never be through?” Marguerite was telling her maid. “Here, give me my hat and stick! Well! Well! Well! Haven’t I got my boots on yet?” She rushed to a window and, bending out, shouted to Ireland: “Leave my horse with the groom, Irry, and gallop on to the _Carrefour_ to tell monsieur that I am coming. I’ve been delayed, and he’ll be anxious!” For a second Ireland looked dubiously at the now empty window, but his _Chevalier_ “_Gamin’s_” orders must be obeyed, and, leaping into the saddle, he was off. “Poor old chap!” laughed Marguerite as, shortly afterward, she vaulted into her own saddle. “I’m sure he is convinced that I am unable to reach the _Carrefour_ without him. I’ll take the short cut and surprise him on the way. He’s gone by the avenue.” With which charitable resolution she set her horse going at a rapid trot along the narrow path skirting the old fortifications above the sea.