Calyste started with a tender farewell to his mother.

“Dear treasure!” she said, as she saw him lower his head to ride through the gateway.

“God keep him!” replied the baron; “for we cannot replace him.”

The words made the baroness shudder.

“My nephew does not love Charlotte enough to ride to Saint-Nazaire after her,” said the old blind woman to Mariotte, who was clearing the breakfast-table.

“No; but a fine lady, a marquise, has come to Les Touches, and I’ll warrant he’s after her; that’s the way at his age,” said Mariotte.

“They’ll kill him,” said Mademoiselle du Guenic.

“That won’t kill him, mademoiselle; quite the contrary,” replied Mariotte, who seemed to be pleased with Calyste’s behavior.

The young fellow started at a great pace, until Gasselin asked him if he was trying to catch the boat, which, of course, was not at all his desire.  He had no wish to see either Conti or Claude again; but he did expect to be invited to drive back with the ladies, leaving Gasselin to lead his horse.  He was gay as a bird, thinking to himself,—­

“She has just passed here; her eyes saw those trees!—­What a lovely road!” he said to Gasselin.

“Ah! monsieur, Brittany is the most beautiful country in all the world,” replied the Breton.  “Where could you find such flowers in the hedges, and nice cool roads that wind about like these?”

“Nowhere, Gasselin.”

“Tiens! here comes the coach from Nazaire,” cried Gasselin presently.

“Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel and her niece will be in it.  Let us hide,” said Calyste.

“Hide! are you crazy, monsieur?  Why, we are on the moor!”

The coach, which was coming up the sandy hill above Saint-Nazaire, was full, and, much to the astonishment of Calyste, there were no signs of Charlotte.

“We had to leave Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, her sister and niece; they are dreadfully worried; but all my seats were engaged by the custom-house,” said the conductor to Gasselin.

“I am lost!” thought Calyste; “they will meet me down there.”

When Calyste reached the little esplanade which surrounds the church of Saint-Nazaire, and from which is seen Paimboeuf and the magnificent Mouths of the Loire as they struggle with the sea, he found Camille and the marquise waving their handkerchiefs as a last adieu to two passengers on the deck of the departing steamer.  Beatrix was charming as she stood there, her features softened by the shadow of a rice-straw hat, on which were tufts and knots of scarlet ribbon.  She wore a muslin gown with a pattern of flowers, and was leaning with one well-gloved hand on a slender parasol.  Nothing is finer to the eyes than a woman poised on a rock like a statue on its pedestal.  Conti could see Calyste from the vessel as he approached Camille.

“I thought,” said the young man, “that you would probably come back alone.”