Then he wondered what now was to be done. He could not insult the Gasgoynes by asking them to come to the chateau. He proposed the Hotel de France to Mr. Gasgoyne, who assented. It was difficult to separate here on the quay: they must all walk together to the hotel. Gaston turned to speak to Andree, but she was gone. She had saved the situation. The three spoke little, and then but formally, as they walked to the hotel. Mr. Gasgoyne said that they would leave by train for Paris the next day, going to Douarnenez that evening. They had saved nothing from the yacht. Delia did not speak. She was pale, composed now. In the hotel Mr. Gasgoyne arranged for rooms, while Gaston got some sailors together, and, in Mr. Gasgoyne’s name, offered a price for the recovery of the yacht or of certain things in her. Then he went into the hotel to see if he could do anything further. The door of the sitting-room was open, and no answer coming to his knock, he entered. Delia was standing in the window. Against her will her father had gone to find a doctor. Gaston would have drawn back if she had not turned round wearily to him. Perhaps it were well to get it over now. He came forward. She made no motion. “I hope you feel better?” he said. “It was a bad accident.” “I am tired and shaken, of course,” she responded. “It was very brave of you.” He hesitated, then said: “We were more fortunate than brave.” He was determined to have Andree included. She deserved that; the wrong to Delia was not hers. But she answered after the manner of a woman: “The girl--ah, yes, please thank her for us. What is her name?” “She is known in Audierne as Madame Belward.” The girl started. Her face had a cold, scornful pride. “The Bretons, then, have a taste for fiction?” “No, they speak as they are taught.” “They understand, then, as little as I.” How proud, how ineffaceably superior she was! “Be ignorant for ever,” he answered quietly. “I do not need the counsel, believe me.” Her hand trembled, though it rested against the window-trembled with indignation: the insult of his elopement kept beating up her throat in spite of her. At that moment a servant knocked, entered, and said that a parcel had been brought for mademoiselle. It was laid upon the table. Delia, wondering, ordered it to be opened. A bundle of clothes was disclosed--Andree’s! Gaston recognised them, and caught his breath with wonder and confusion. “Who has sent them?” Delia said to the servant. “They come from the Chateau Ronan, mademoiselle.” Delia dismissed the servant. “The Chateau Ronan?” she asked of Gaston. “Where I am living.” “It is not necessary to speak of this?” She flushed. “Not at all. I will have them sent back. There is a little shop near by where you can get what you may need.” Andree had acted according to her lights. It was not an olive-branch, but a touch of primitive hospitality. She was Delia’s enemy at sight, but a woman must have linen.