I was standing at the rail beside Miss Kemball, filled with the
thought of our imminent good-by, when she turned to me suddenly.
"Don't forget Martigny," she cautioned. "Wouldn't you better see him
again?"
"I thought I'd wait till we landed," I said; "then I can help him off
the boat and see him well away from the station. He's too ill to be
very lively on his feet. We shouldn't have any trouble dodging him."
"Yes; and be careful. He mustn't suspect Etretat. But look at that
clump of houses yonder--aren't they picturesque?"
They _were_ picturesque, with their high red roofs and yellow gables
and striped awnings; yet I didn't care to look at them. I was glad to
perceive what a complicated business it was, getting our boat to the
quay, for I was jealous of every minute; but it was finally
accomplished in the explosive French manner, and after a further short
delay the gang-plank was run out.
"And now," said my companion, holding out her hand, "we must say
good-by."
"Indeed, not!" I protested. "See, there go your mother and Royce.
They're evidently expecting us to follow. We'll have to help you with
your baggage."
"Our baggage goes through to Paris--we make our declarations there."
"At least, I must take you to the train."
"You are risking everything!" she cried.
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