I should say that Miss Brandt was a very
independent young woman!”

“Perhaps, by nature, but she has been shut up in a convent for the best
part of her life, and that is not considered to be a good preparation
for fighting one’s way through the world!”

“She’ll be able to fight her own battles, never fear!” was Elinor’s
reply. Just then they encountered Bobby Bates, who lifted his cap as he
hurried past them. “Where are you going so fast, Mr. Bates?” said Elinor Leyton. “I am going back to the Hotel to fetch Mamma’s fur boa!” he answered. They were passing a lighted lamp at the time, and she noticed that the
lad’s eyes were red, and his features bore traces of distress. “Are you ill?” she enquired quickly, “or in any trouble?”

He halted for a minute in his stride. “No! no! not exactly,” he said in a low voice, and then, as if the
words came from him against his will, he went on, “But O! I do wish
someone would speak to Mamma about the way she treats me. It’s
cruel--to strike me with her stick before all those people, as if I
were a baby, and to call me such names! Even the servant William laughs
at me! Do all mothers do the same, Miss Leyton? Ought a man to stand it
quietly?”

“Decidedly not!” cried Elinor, without hesitation. “O! Elinor! remember, she is his mother,” remonstrated Margaret, “don’t
say anything to set him against her!”

“But I was nineteen last birthday,” continued the lad, “and sometimes
she treats me in such a manner, that I can’t bear it! The Baron dare
not say a word to her! She swears at him so. Sometimes, I think I will
run away and go to sea!”

“No! no! you mustn’t do that!” called Miss Leyton after him, as he
quickened his footsteps in the direction of the Lion d’Or. “What an awful woman!” sighed Mrs. Pullen. “Fancy! striking her own son
in public, and with that thick stick too. I believe he had been crying!”

“I am _sure_ he had,” replied her friend, “you can see the poor fellow
is half-witted, and very weakly into the bargain. I suppose she has
beaten his brains to a pap. What a terrible misfortune to have such a
mother! You should hear some of the stories Madame Lamont has to tell
of her!”

“But how does she hear them?”

“Through the Baron’s servant William, I suppose. He says the Baroness
has often taken her stick to him and the other servants, and thinks no
more of swearing at them than a trooper! They all hate her. One day,
she took up a kitchen cleaver and advanced upon her coachman with it,
but he seized her by both arms and sat her down upon the fire, whence
she was only rescued after being somewhat severely burned!”

“It served her right!” exclaimed Margaret, laughing at the ludicrous
idea, “but what a picture she must have presented, seated on the
kitchen range! Where can the woman have been raised? What sort of a
person can she be?”

“Not what she pretends, Margaret, you may be sure of that! All her fine
talk of lords and ladies is so much bunkum. But I pity the poor little
Baron, who is, at all events, inoffensive. How can he put up with such
a wife! He must feel very much ashamed of her sometimes!”

“And yet he seems devoted to her! He never leaves her side for a
moment. He is her walking stick, her fetcher and carrier, and her
scribe. I don’t believe she can write a letter!”

“And yet she was talking at the _table d’hôte_ yesterday of the Duke of
This and the Earl of That, and hinting at her having stayed at Osborne
and Windsor. Of course they are falsehoods! She has never seen the
inside of a palace unless it was in the capacity of a char-woman! Have
you observed her hair? It is as coarse as a horse-tail! And her hands! Bobby informed me the other day that his Mamma took nines in gloves! She’s not a woman, my dear! She’s a female elephant!”

Margaret was laughing still, when they reached the steps of the Lion
d’Or. “You are very naughty and very scandalous, Elinor,” she said, “but you
have done me a world of good. My unpleasant feelings have quite gone. I
am quite capable of continuing our walk if you would like to do so.”

“No such thing, Madam,” replied Miss Leyton. “I am responsible for your
well-doing in Arthur’s absence. Upstairs and into bed you go, unless
you would like a cup of coffee and a chasse first. That is the only
indulgence I can grant you.”

But Mrs. Pullen declined the proffered refreshment, and the two ladies
sought their rooms in company. CHAPTER III. The next morning dawned upon a perfect August day. The sun streamed
brightly over every part of Heyst, turning the loose dry yellow sand
(from end to end of which not a stone or boulder was to be seen),
into a veritable cloth of gold. The patient asses, carrying their
white-covered saddles, and tied to stakes, were waiting in a row for
hire, whilst some dozen Rosinantes, called by courtesy, horses, were
also of the company. The sands were already strewn with children, their
short petticoats crammed into a pair of bathing-drawers, and their
heads protected by linen hats or bonnets, digging away at the dry sand
as if their lives depended on their efforts. The bathing-machines,
painted in gay stripes of green, red, blue, or orange, were hauled
down, ready for action, and the wooden tents, which can be hired for
the season at any foreign watering place, were being swept out and
arranged for the day’s use. Some of the more pretentious ones, belonging to private families,
were surmounted by a gilt coronet, the proud possession of the Comte
Darblaye, or the Herr Baron Grumplestein--sported flags moreover of
France or Germany, and were screened from the eyes of the vulgar, by
lace or muslin curtains, tied up with blue ribbons. On the balcony of
the Lion d’Or, where the visitors always took their breakfast, were
arranged tables, piled with dishes of crevettes, fresh from the sea,
pistolets, and beautiful butter as white and tasteless as cream. It
was a delight to breakfast on the open balcony, with the sea breeze
blowing in one’s face, and in the intervals of eating prawns and bread
and butter, or perusing the morning papers, to watch the cheerful scene
below. The Baroness was there, early of course. She, and her husband, and the
ill-used Bobby, occupied a table to themselves, whence she addressed
her remarks to whomever she chose, whether they wished to listen, or
not, and the Baron shelled her crevettes and buttered her pistolets
for her. Margaret and Elinor were rather later than usual, for Mrs.
Pullen had not passed a good night, and Miss Leyton would not have her
disturbed. Harriet Brandt was there as they appeared, and beside her, a pale,
unhealthy-looking young woman, whom she introduced as her friend, and
travelling companion, Olga Brimont. “Olga did not wish to come down. She thought she would lie another day
in bed, but I made her get up and dress, and I was right, wasn’t I,
Mrs. Pullen?”

“I think the fresh air will do Mademoiselle Brimont more good than the
close bedroom, if she is strong enough to stand it!” replied Margaret,
with a smile.