As it grew dark, our two parties found themselves once more on the quay, amid a great throng of tourists, country folk, visitors in automobiles and farm carts, on bicycles, and in lumbering buses from out-of-the-way villages. The prosaic little neighbourhood was changed for the night into a gorgeous panorama of light and colour. The river banks burned with red, green, and white Bengal fires. Queer boats rigged with golden lamps, and sails of coloured lanterns, floated down the stream, and into the sky burst showers of gold and silver stars. [Illustration: CHÂTEAU GAILLARD] Suddenly there was heard a great boom, and from the top of Château Gaillard rose a red cloud of fire, and the old walls and turrets stood out red against the dark blue sky, a beacon for miles of country roundabout. It was a mimic reproduction of the destruction of the grand old castle many hundreds of years ago. Germaine caught Marie's hand, it seemed so real. It seemed as if her cherished playground were crumbling away, and that never again could she picture the great king and his knights riding out of its massive gateway to do battle against its foes. "Ah! _Messieurs_ and _Mesdames_, is it not a wonderful sight; a grand occasion for our city?" The voice brought Germaine back to earth again. It was the indefatigable little _sous-Commissaire_, the one policeman of the village, speaking to them. The little man had come unwearied and triumphant through the excitements of the great day. Ah! it was he who had managed it all so successfully! It was he who had kept order among the vast throng. No other _sous-Commissaire_ in all France could have done better, and the little man swelled with pride. The light had faded off the château; the last rocket had been fired; the band of the _pompiers_ played the "Marseillaise,"--the national air,--and the great event of the year for Petit Andelys was over. CHAPTER VIII. AN AUTOMOBILE JOURNEY EARLY one morning three of the happiest children in France were stowed away in the back of Mr. Carter's big automobile. They were still more delighted when Pierre, Mr. Carter's fine, black French poodle, jumped up on the seat beside him, looking very jaunty with his fore-locks tied up with a blue ribbon, and as complacent as if he was driving the auto himself. "I thought we would go by way of La Roche-Guyon to Mantes and have lunch there, and then come back by way of Vernon; that ought to show you children a bit of the country," said Mr. Carter. The children were ready for anything, and off they went at a pace that nearly took away their breath. They were soon flying through rolling farmlands, where the various crops were planted in such regular fields that they looked like a great patchwork quilt, with squares of green, yellow, and brown spread out for miles. There were no divisions by fences or hedges, except sometimes at each corner of a farm a small white stone marked the boundary. Suddenly, they slowed down.