shop. Yet there was something about the man himself not altogether British.
"I fancy the people are busy getting ready for the harvest," Wrayson remarked at last. "You will find lots of places as pretty as this along the coast."
"Perhaps so," the visitor admitted, "and yet when one has taken a fancy to a place, it seems a pity to have to leave it so soon. You couldn't speak a word to the landlord for me, sir, I suppose—you or your friend. I don't fancy he understood my French very well."
Wrayson shook his head.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use," he said. "As a matter of fact, I know that he does not intend to take any more visitors. He has not the staff to deal with them."
"It is a pity," the little man said dejectedly. "I think that I must try again in the village. By the by, sir, perhaps you can tell me to whom the château there belongs?"
"Madame la Baronne de Sturm," Wrayson answered. "At least, so our host told me yesterday."
"It is a very beautiful place—very beautiful," the tourist said reverently. "I dare say there is a chapel there, too! Can one gain admission there, do you know, sir?"
Wrayson laid down his knife and fork.
"Look here," he said good-humouredly, "I'm not a guide-book, you know, and I only arrived here yesterday myself. You've reached the limit of my information. You had better try the landlord. He will tell you all that you want to know."
Duncan pushed his chair back. He had eaten very little luncheon, but he was filling his pipe preparatory
