The fourth day came, with the golden road still unfolding before them and her fairy prince still beside her. Then the fifth day, and that night they stopped within sight of the ocean. It came as a surprise to both of them. It was as if, after all, they had reached a destination, when as a matter of fact they had done nothing of the sort. It meant, to be sure, that the next day would find them in Nice, which would end their ride, because they intended to remain there for a day or two until they arranged for a villa in Étois, which, being in the mountains, they must reach afoot. But if she did not like it she had only to nod and they could move on to somewhere else. There was nothing final even about Étois. That evening they walked by the shore of the sea, and Monte appeared quieter than usual. "I have wired ahead for rooms at the Hôtel des Roses," he announced. "Yes, Monte," she said. "It's where I've stopped for ten years. The last time I was there I found Edhart gone, and was very uncomfortable." "You were as dependent upon him as that?" she asked. "It was what lured me on to Paris--and you," he smiled. "Then I must be indebted to Edhart also." "I think it would be no more than decent to look up his grave and place a wreath of roses there," he observed. "But, Monte," she protested, "I should hate to imagine he had to give up his life--for just this." "At any rate, if he hadn't died I'm sure I should have kept to my schedule," he said seriously. "And then?" "I should not have been here." "You speak regretfully?" she asked. He stopped abruptly and seized her arm. "You know better," he answered. For a moment she looked dizzily into his eyes. Then he broke the tension by smiling. "I guess we'd better turn back," he said below his breath. It was evident that Monte was not quite himself at that moment. That night she heard the roll of the ocean as she tried to sleep, and it said many strange things to her. She did not sleep well. The next morning they were on their way again, reaching the Hôtel des Roses at six in the afternoon. Henri was at the door to meet them. Henri, he thought, had greatly improved since his last visit. Perhaps Edhart, from his seat on high, had been instructing him. The man seemed to understand better without being told what Monsieur Covington desired. The apartments were ready, and it was merely a personal matter between Monte and the garçon to have his trunk transferred from the second floor to the third and Marie's trunk brought down from the third to the second. Even Edhart might have been pardoned for making this mistake in the distribution of the luggage, if not previously informed.