attention was attracted. The old sailor was pointing to the shore, and
speaking in bad French.

"Voila, madame, where the City of Ys stood long before the Bretons came.
It was a foolish ride."

"I do not know the story. Tell me."

"There are two or three, but mine is the oldest. A flood came--sent by
the gods, for the woman was impious. The king must ride with her into
the sea and leave her there, himself to come back, and so save the city."

The sailor paused to scan the sea--something had struck him. He shook
his head. Gaston was watching Andree from behind his book.

"Well, well," she said, impatiently, "what then? What did he do?"

"The king took up the woman, and rode into the water as far as where you
see the great white stone--it has been there ever since. There he had a
fight--not with the woman, but in his heart. He turned to the people,
and cried: 'Dry be your streets, and as ashes your eyes for your king!'
And then he rode on with the woman till they saw him no more--never!"
Andree said instantly:

"That was long ago. Now the king would ride back alone."

She did not look at Gaston, but she knew that his eyes were on her.
He closed the book, got up, came forward to the sailor, who was again
looking out to sea, and said carelessly over his shoulder: