"Oh, here you are, my Lady!" His tone was far from amiable; as he spoke he pulled up his horse with a vicious jerk. "A pretty chase you've led me!"
She regarded him indifferently. "If you _will_ stop at the inn, Beppo--"
The man's irate glance fell. "Who is this?"
"A boy who doesn't want to sell his fish," said the girl merrily.
"Oh!" The man's look expressed a quick recognition. "A fine day's work is this--to bandy words with--" Abruptly he raised his whip. "What do you mean, sirrah, by stopping my Lady?"
A fierce gleam in the lad's eyes belied the smile on his lips. "Don't beat me, good Beppo!" he said in a mocking voice, and stood, alert, lithe, like a tiger ready to spring. The man hesitated; his arm dropped to his side. "The very spot!" he said, looking around him.
A moment the boy waited, then turned on his heel and, without a word, walked away. Soon an angle in the sea-wall, girdling the Mount, hid him from view.
"Why didn't you strike him?" Quietly the child regarded the man. "Were you afraid?" Beppo's answering look was not one of affection for his charge. "Who is he?"
A queer expression sprang into his eyes. "One can't remember every peasant brat," he returned evasively.
She considered him silently; then: "Why did you say: 'The very spot'?" she asked.
"Did I? I don't remember. But it's time we were getting back. Come, my Lady!" And Beppo struck his horse smartly.
Immovable on its granite base, the great rock, or "Mount," as it had been called for centuries, stood some distance from the shore in a vast bay on the northwestern coast of France. To the right, a sweep of sward and marsh stretched seaward, until lost in the distance; to the left, lay the dense Desaurac forest, from which an arm of land, thickly wooded, reached out in seeming endeavor to divide the large bay into two smaller basins. But the ocean, jealous of territory already conquered, twice in twenty-four hours rose to beat heavily on this dark promontory, and, in the angry hiss of the waters, was a reminder of a persistent purpose. Here and there, through the ages, had the shore-line of the bay, as well as the neighboring curvatures of the coast, yielded to the assaults of the sea; the Mount alone, solidly indifferent to blandishment or attack, maintained an unvarying aspect.