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: "Men who lived centuries ago would act the same now, if they were here." Her response seemed quite as careless as his: "How do you know ?" "Perhaps I had an innings then," he answered, smiling whimsically.
She was about to speak again, but the guide suddenly said: "You must get away.

There'll be a change of wind and a bad cross-current soon." In a few minutes the two were bearing out--none too soon, for those pumas crowded up once or twice within a fathom of their deck, devilish and devouring.