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 the commune. You descend to it and follow it, round the promontory, and you will find a bridge crossing the stream that flows at the foot of the cliff. From there you climb to the grande route, and from the road straight up to the vineyards. You cannot miss the path. It runs straight up from the meadow to the Manoir.'

'And who uses it? The Manoir people?' Jill asked.

'No; Monsieur Trumier brings down their grapes, at the vintage, by the road—and they have no cattle. It is used only by some poor folk who live in the cottage below the Manoir and graze their sheep and goats on the island. Indeed it is fit only for goats and Madame would do better to keep to the road.'

'No; because the road leads past the cemetery, and I don't like cemeteries,' said Jill.

'Ah, Madame is sensitive,' Madame Michon smiled. 'And it is true that cemeteries have lugubrious associations. But ours is well arranged;—on peut même dire coquet, '  said Madame Michon. 'Madame has not yet visited it?'

'Yes. I've visited it. It's certainly very neat,' said Jill.—'' ' Coquet! ' '' she repeated, as they set out.

Graham smiled sardonically, but made no comment on Madame Michon's laudatory term.

The peninsula that ran out from the foot of the mountain had been built, they found, when they reached the end of the village, into a breakwater, half natural and half artificial. It was broad enough to allow of the passage of a hay-cart and sloped down to the rich alluvial meadow that must once have been