"Whatever are you talking about, child?" asked La Vireville uneasily, coming out of his doze. But Anne went on, apparently fascinated by the words, and not much thinking of their meaning, which had on a past occasion so much distressed him: "'O lang, lang may the ladies sit, Wi their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand! 'And lang, lang may the maidens sit Wi' their gowd kames in their hair, A-waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they'll see nae mair.'" La Vireville winced, and his hand went to the medal and the ring in his pocket. "Your selection of poetry is not very cheerful, my small friend," he remarked. Anne-Hilarion looked at him with large eyes of surprise. "Do you not like it, M. le Chevalier? I think it has so pleasant a sound. But I expect your head aches a good deal, does it not? Then I will not say any more of it. That is the end, I think." He had been sitting on a pile of dried seaweed at a little distance, whence he could see out of the cave entrance; now he got up, and came and slipped his hand into his friend's. "If you wish to sleep, M. le Chevalier----" "You will play sentry, eh?" finished La Vireville, smiling up at him. "Very well, only you must promise on no account to go outside the cave. We shall leave it as soon as it is dark. That is," he added to himself, "if this accursed head of mine is steady enough for me to walk by then." For he was beginning to fear that it might not be, and it was therefore with relief that he accepted Anne's suggestion, and closed his eyes again. Left to his own devices, the Comte de Flavigny sat for quite a long time solemnly and sympathetically regarding his prostrate companion--rather as that companion had, earlier, studied him. M. le Chevalier looked so long, lying there, longer even, Anne thought, than when he was on his feet. Then the watcher got up and proceeded to make a careful tour round his domain. A meticulous search yielded nothing of more interest than an empty water-keg, similar to their own, abandoned in a corner. Having exhausted the hopeful emotions of this quest, Anne looked longingly at the entrance of the cave, whence he could see a slit of sea and sky, and hear the waves and the gulls. He desired greatly to go out, but his promise rendered that impossible. So he returned to his heap of seaweed, and wondered if François the fisherman had got nearly home by now; for he did not in the least doubt the explanation of recent events that had been given him, though he did not much care to dwell upon them. Then he thought of his grandfather, and speculated as to what he was doing; he thought also of Elspeth, and Baptiste, and the exotic Lal Khan. He would soon be seeing them again now. M. le Chevalier stirred in his sleep--if indeed he were really asleep, of which Anne was not sure--threw out an arm, and said something that sounded angry.