Even at this unaccustomed hour of the morning, the beach was black with
people. It was not to bathe that they had come, for a chill north wind
was blowing; nor was it to promenade, for they were not promenading;
indeed, it was the fashionable hour for neither of these things, and no
one ever dreamed of doing them at any hour other than the fashionable
one. It was rather the fashionable hour to turn painfully over in one's
bed, and ring the bell, and signify that coffee and rolls would be
acceptable.

This morning there had been scant time for such refreshment, or for that
preliminary stretching which is so grateful to bodies wearied by late
hours and too-rapid living. Instead, nearly all the sojourners at
Weet-sur-Mer had arisen aching from their beds, had hurried forth to the
beach, and stood there now, facing unanimously seawards, staring toward
the dim horizon, only moving convulsively from time to time in the
effort to keep warm. Those who had glasses used them; those who had
none, strained nature's binoculars to the limit of vision. From all of
which it will be seen that the notary had done his work well, and that
neither had Monsieur Pelletan been backward in spreading the great news
of the unparalleled occurrence which was about to happen.

"He iss to arrive between t'e hours of seven unt eight," he had
announced. "Hiss Highness, pe it understood, Lord Vernon, t'e great
Englishman. He comes in a special vessel--a sheep-of-t'e-war," he added
with a triumphant flourish. "He could pring mit' him t'e whole nafy of
England, if he wish'!" Ah, what an honour for Weet-sur-Mer! And what a
blow for the Grand Hôtel Splendide across the way!

Yet Monsieur Pelletan did not in the least understand how it had come to