The first load brought Herbert, Brierley, and myself, Le Blanc driving: Lemois had remained with Gaston. Mignon, with staring, inquiring eyes, her apron over her head to protect her from the wet, met us at the outer gate, but not a word was said by any of us about Gaston, a crack on a fisherman's head not being a serious affair--and then again, this one was as tough as a rudder-post and as full of spring as an oar--and then, more important still, the poor child with her hungry, tear-stained eyes had had trouble enough for one day, as we all knew. Later when Leà  and I were alone, I told her the story, describing Gaston's pluck and bravery and his risking his life to save Lemois--the dear old woman clasping her fingers together as if in church when I added that "he'd be all right in the morning after a good night's rest." "Pray God nothing happens to him!" she said at last, crossing herself. "Mignon is only a child and it would break her heart. Monsieur Lemois does not wish it, and there is trouble--much trouble--ahead for her, but while there is life there is hope. He is a good Gaston--his mother and I were girls together; she had only this one left--the boat upset and the father was drowned off _Les Dents Terribles_ two years ago." Louis, whose heart is as big as his body, was less cautious. He must have a word with the girl herself. And so, when we had all gathered before the fire to dry out--for most of us were still wet and all ravenous--he called out to her in his cheery, hearty way: "That is a plucky garçon of yours, mademoiselle. Monsieur Lemois would have been flattened into a pancake but for him. When the house fell it was Monsieur Gaston who jerked him away from the window and rolled a sofa on top of him. Ah!--a brave garçon, and one who does you credit." The girl--she was busying herself with her dishes at the time--blushed and said: "Merci, monsieur," her eyes dancing over the praise of her lover, but she was too modest and too well trained to say more. Again Le Blanc's siren came shrieking down the road. This time it would bring Lemois. I threw on another log to warm them both, and Louis began collecting a small assortment of glasses, Mignon following with a decanter. Several minutes passed, during which we waited for the heavy tread of fat Le Blanc. Then the door opened and Leà appeared; she was trembling from head to foot and white as a ghost. "Monsieur wants you--all of you--something has happened! Not you, Mignon--you stay here." Inside the court-yard, close to the door of the Marmouset, stood Le Blanc's motor. Lemois was on the foot-board leaning over the body of a man stretched out on the two seats.