“And yet she was talking at the _table d’hôte_ yesterday of the Duke of This and the Earl of That, and hinting at her having stayed at Osborne and Windsor. Of course they are falsehoods! She has never seen the inside of a palace unless it was in the capacity of a char-woman! Have you observed her hair? It is as coarse as a horse-tail! And her hands! Bobby informed me the other day that his Mamma took nines in gloves! She’s not a woman, my dear! She’s a female elephant!” Margaret was laughing still, when they reached the steps of the Lion d’Or. “You are very naughty and very scandalous, Elinor,” she said, “but you have done me a world of good. My unpleasant feelings have quite gone. I am quite capable of continuing our walk if you would like to do so.” “No such thing, Madam,” replied Miss Leyton. “I am responsible for your well-doing in Arthur’s absence. Upstairs and into bed you go, unless you would like a cup of coffee and a chasse first. That is the only indulgence I can grant you.” But Mrs. Pullen declined the proffered refreshment, and the two ladies sought their rooms in company. CHAPTER III. The next morning dawned upon a perfect August day. The sun streamed brightly over every part of Heyst, turning the loose dry yellow sand (from end to end of which not a stone or boulder was to be seen), into a veritable cloth of gold. The patient asses, carrying their white-covered saddles, and tied to stakes, were waiting in a row for hire, whilst some dozen Rosinantes, called by courtesy, horses, were also of the company. The sands were already strewn with children, their short petticoats crammed into a pair of bathing-drawers, and their heads protected by linen hats or bonnets, digging away at the dry sand as if their lives depended on their efforts. The bathing-machines, painted in gay stripes of green, red, blue, or orange, were hauled down, ready for action, and the wooden tents, which can be hired for the season at any foreign watering place, were being swept out and arranged for the day’s use. Some of the more pretentious ones, belonging to private families, were surmounted by a gilt coronet, the proud possession of the Comte Darblaye, or the Herr Baron Grumplestein--sported flags moreover of France or Germany, and were screened from the eyes of the vulgar, by lace or muslin curtains, tied up with blue ribbons. On the balcony of the Lion d’Or, where the visitors always took their breakfast, were arranged tables, piled with dishes of crevettes, fresh from the sea, pistolets, and beautiful butter as white and tasteless as cream. It was a delight to breakfast on the open balcony, with the sea breeze blowing in one’s face, and in the intervals of eating prawns and bread and butter, or perusing the morning papers, to watch the cheerful scene below.