A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. “When it comes there is no mistaking it. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave. I cannot think he will welcome a French émigré for his granddaughter. Sebastian howled with laughter, doubling over. ” Capes waited patiently. He is Jacques. CHAPTER VIII.
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