Looking around, he perceived at length a thread
of light, of daylight undoubtedly, which must come from the window.
He got out of bed, cautiously crossed the floor, found the window,
and the means of opening it, then unlatched the shutters which had
kept the room in darkness. At once a flood of sunshine poured in.
Looking forth, he saw a quiet little street of houses and gardens,
and beyond, some miles away, a mountain peak rising against the
cloudless blue.
His watch had run down. He rang the bell, and learnt that the hour
was nearly eleven.
"I have slept well," he said in his Anglo-French. "I am hungry.
Bring me hot water. And find out, if you can, where lives Mrs.
Coppinger. I couldn't remember the name last night--Mrs.
Coppinger."
In half an hour he was downstairs. The English lady for whom he
inquired lived, they told him, outside St. Jean de Luz, but not much
more than a mile away. Good, he would go there after lunch. And
until that meal was ready, he strolled out to have a look at the
sea. Five minutes' walk brought him on to the shore of a rounded
bay, sheltered by breakwaters against Atlantic storms above a sandy
beach lay the little town, with grassy slopes falling softly to the
tide on either hand.
At noon, he ate and drank heroically, then, having had his way
pointed out to him, set forth on the quest. He passed through the
length of the town, crossed the little river Nivelle, where he
paused for a moment on the bridge, to gaze at the panorama of
mountains, all but to the summit clad in soft verdure, and presently
turned into an inland road, which led him between pastures and
fields of maize, gently upwards.
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