"Oh, I left that at Houat," said Fortuné composedly. "An unnecessary luxury, two arms, I assure you, mon ami. I cannot think how I ever found work for both. You are surprised to see me? Well, I am on my way to Jersey; the sloop sails again this afternoon. I came by her because she was touching here, and I wished to wait upon you and Mme. de Guéfontaine." "For my part, Chevalier, I am delighted to see you," said du Coudrais, with much cordiality, "and I hope you will do me the honour of dining with me; but my sister, I am sorry to say, is not with me for the moment. She is over in Sark." "In Sark?" repeated Fortuné, surprised, looking instinctively over the intense blue to where, six or seven miles away, the little island floated like a rock-set jewel. "When will she return?" "Not until to-morrow or the day after, I am afraid," answered her brother. "She has gone over to see a poor émigré family settled in a farm there--that of an old nurse, in fact. She generally spends a night or two with them. I need not tell you, Chevalier, how sorry she will be to miss you. Could you not stay here till her return? The hospitality that I can offer you is not very sumptuous, but I should be deeply honoured by your acceptance of it." Fortuné bit his lip thoughtfully, still looking over the sea to Sark. Then he shook his head. "I thank you a thousand times, but I cannot stay. I am awaited at Jersey. . . . Will you give me a word in private, M. du Coudrais?--over there, for instance, at the end of the jetty, would serve." "Willingly," said Raymonde's brother, and followed him. "You may possibly guess, Monsieur," began La Vireville, still preoccupied with the sight of Sark, "why I wish to wait upon Mme. de Guéfontaine?" The young officer took on a very discreet air. "You are, perhaps, in need of an agent de la correspondance over there again?" La Vireville smiled. "Of that--and more," he said. "God knows I have little enough to offer her--probably she won't even look at me--but I should be glad to know that I had your consent to address your sister." "M. le Chevalier," retorted Henri du Coudrais, "do you suppose that I have forgotten last April? I have not met any man to whom I would sooner commit my sister. As for Raymonde--but she must speak for herself." "You are very kind, du Coudrais," said La Vireville, but he sighed. "I wish I could think your sister would be as easily pleased. . . . It is only right to point out to you that I have neither money, nor prospects, nor a home, nor even two arms, to offer her----" "But you asserted just now that one was sufficient," observed Henri du Coudrais, leaning back with a smile against the rail that ran out to the beacon light. "As for fortune or prospects, which of us émigrés has those nowadays? And upon my soul, I don't know a woman on earth who is less set on either than Raymonde." "I suppose that I ought not to ask if there is any other man?"