It was now the beginning of August, and just "grilling," as Donald would have expressed it.  
It seemed almost as difficult to Barbara to leave the sea as it is to get out of bed on a winter morning.
 
"It must be so very nice to be a mermaid—in summer," she said, looking back at the water, as she and Marie went up the beach one morning.
 
"Yes," returned Marie, "If they had short hair. It must take such a lot of combing."
 
Marie was not so enthusiastic about bathing as her companion. Perhaps her want of enthusiasm was due to the fact that she was not allowed to bathe every day, because "it took up so much time that might be devoted to her studies." At first Mademoiselle Thérèse had tried to persuade Barbara that it would be much better for her to go only once or twice a week too.
 
"There are so many English at the plage," she complained, "that I know you will talk with them; and it is a pity to come to France to learn the language and waste your time talking with English, whom you can meet in your own country."
 
"But I won't talk with them," Barbara had assured her. "You know how careful I have been always to speak French—even when I could hardly make myself understood."
 
The girl's eyes twinkled, for Mademoiselle Thérèse had a mania for speaking English whenever possible, and at first always used that language when with her pupil, until Barbara had asked her if she had got so accustomed to speaking English that it was more familiar to her than French! Since then, she only used English in public places, or when she thought English people were near.
 
"It is such a good advertisement," she explained complacently. "You never know what introductions it may make for you."
 
Barbara had used the same argument in favour of bathing every day, and had prevailed, though she had really been very particular about speaking French—not, I fear, from the desire of pleasing Mademoiselle Thérèse, but because of the thought of the home people, and what she meant to do for them.
 
"I can't understand how you can bear riding in this weather," Marie remarked, as they toiled slowly home in the sun. "It would kill me to jog up and down on a horse in a sun as hot as this."
 
"Not when you're accustomed to it," Barbara assured her. "You would want to do it everyday then. I'm going to ride to St. Lunaire this afternoon."
 
"Then Aunt Thérèse won't go for the walk after supper. What a happiness!" Marie cried, for Mademoiselle Loiré was not so strict as her sister.
 
The latter had grown quite reconciled to her journeys to Dinard now, and, as a matter of fact, was looking forward with regret to the time they must cease. She found the afternoons in the Casino Gardens with her friend very pleasant, and came back each time full of ideas for altering everybody's clothes.
 
This she was not permitted to do, however, for Mademoiselle Loiré had an unpleasant remembrance of similar plans on a previous occasion, which had resulted in many garments being unpicked, and then left in a dismembered condition until Marie and she had laboriously sewed them up again! This particular afternoon Mademoiselle Thérèse was in a very complacent mood, having just retrimmed her hat for the second time since its immersion, and feeling that it was wonderfully successful.
 
"If I had not been acquainted with the English language, and had so many pressing offers to teach it," she said, as they were walking up to the riding-school, "I should have made a wonderful success as a modiste. Indeed, I sometimes wonder if it might not have been less trying work."
 
"That would depend on the customers, wouldn't it?" Barbara returned; but did not hear her reply, for she had caught sight of Monsieur Pirenne at the manège door, and knew that he did not like to be kept waiting. Mademoiselle Thérèse always waited to see them mounted, feeling that thereby she ensured a certain amount of safety on the ride; moreover, there was a ceremony about the matter that appealed to her.
 
Monsieur Pirenne always liked to mount Barbara in the street, and, before getting on to his own horse, he lingered a while to see that there were a few people present to witness the departure, for, like Mademoiselle Thérèse, he had a great feeling for effect. After seeing Barbara safely up, he glanced carelessly round, flicked a little dust from his elegantly-cut coat, twirled his mustachios, and leaped nimbly into the saddle, without the help of the stirrup.
 
A flutter of approval went round the bystanders, and Mademoiselle Thérèse called out a parting word of warning to Barbara—just to show she was connected with the couple—before they moved off. Their progress down the street was as picturesque as Monsieur Pirenne could make it; for whatever horse he might be on, he succeeded in making it caracole and curvet, saying at intervals, with a careless smile—
 
"Not too near, mademoiselle. Manon is not to be trusted."
 
"I believe he would do the same on a rocking-horse," Barbara had once written home; but she admired and liked him in spite of these little affectations—admired him for his skill in horsemanship, and liked him for his patience as a master.
 
This ride was one of the nicest she had yet had, as the road, being bordered for a great part of the way by the links, made capital going. It was when they had turned their faces homeward, and were just entering the town, that something very exciting happened. They had fallen into a walk, and Barbara was watching the people idly, when she recognised among the passers-by the face of the "solicitor" of Neuilly! She felt sure it was he, although he was just turning down a side street; and after the shock of surprise she followed her first impulse, and, putting her horse at a gallop, dashed after him.
 
Monsieur Pirenne, who was in the middle of saying something, received a great fright, and wondered whether she or her horse had gone mad. He followed her at once, calling after her anxiously, "Pull up, mademoiselle, pull up! You will be killed!"
 
The solicitor did not see her, but just before she reached him he stepped on to a passing tram and was whirled away, and before Barbara had decided whether to pursue an electric tram or not, Monsieur Pirenne had reached her side and seized her reins. He looked really frightened, and annoyed too, but when Barbara told him that the horse had only been running in accordance with the will of her mistress, he composed himself a little, merely remarking that it was hardly comme il faut to gallop in the streets like that.
 
"But, Monsieur Pirenne," Barbara said eagerly, "I know you would have done the same if you had known the story;" and therewith she began to tell it to him. He was immensely interested, for there is nothing a Frenchman enjoys more than an adventure, and at the end of the tale he was almost as excited as she was.
 
"Could we trace him now?" he questioned eagerly. "But—I fear the chance is small—the description is so vague, and you did not even see the name on the tram, and we have no proofs. Yet, mademoiselle, if you will go to the préfecture with me, I will do my best."
 
But Barbara shook her head decidedly. The thought of police courts, especially French ones, alarmed her, and the warnings she had received to keep out of any more "complications" were still very fresh in her mind.
 
"I think I should rather not go to the préfecture, monsieur," she said quickly. "I do not think it would be any good either."
 
"I agree with you perfectly." And Monsieur Pirenne bowed gallantly. "Therefore, shall we proceed on our way? Does mademoiselle regret that she did not catch him?" he asked, after a while.
 
"I am sorry he is not caught—but I am not sorry I did not catch him, though that seems rather contradictory, doesn't it?"
 
"By which mademoiselle means that she does not know what she would have done with one hand on the miscreant's collar, the other on the reins, and a crowd around her?" the Frenchman inquired politely.
 
"That's just it," laughed Barbara. "You have exactly described it—though I should be glad if some one caught him and made him give back the money."
 
"I will keep my eyes open on your behalf, and shall let you know if anything happens," he said sympathetically; and Barbara, remembering his kindness, did not like to remind him that, never having seen the man, he could not possibly be of much service to her.
 
When Mademoiselle Thérèse heard that she had seen the solicitor again, she was almost as excited as Barbara had been, and at once proposed that they should spend the rest of the evening in Dinard, looking for him; and it was not until the girl pointed out that he might now be on his way to England, or a long way off in another direction, that she became reconciled to returning home.
 
Excitement seemed in the air that evening, and when they arrived at the St. Servan quay there were more idlers than usual. They wondered what was the cause, and when Mademoiselle Thérèse, with her customary desire to get at the bottom of everything, asked the reason, she was told that the strike among the timber-yard men, which had been threatened for some time, had begun that afternoon, and that work was suspended.
 
It was all the more astonishing because it had come so suddenly, and Barbara could hardly tear mademoiselle away from the spot until she suggested that those at home might not have heard of it yet, and that she might be the first to tell it to them. Hurrying through the town, they heard great shouting from the other side of the quay, which made mademoiselle nearly break into a run with eagerness. As it happened, however, the news had already spread to their street, and they found Mademoiselle Loir&eacut............