Royce's French was sorely taxed, but we succeeded at last in
securing a horse and light trap, together with a driver who claimed to
know the road. All this had taken time, and the sun was setting when
we finally drove away northward.
The road was smooth and level--they manage their road-making better in
France--and we bowled along at a good rate past cultivated fields with
little dwellings like doll-houses dotted here and there. Occasionally
we passed a man or woman trudging along the road, but as the darkness
deepened, it became more and more deserted. In an hour and a half from
Beuzeville we reached Les Ifs, and here we stopped for a light supper.
We had cause to congratulate ourselves that we had secured a vehicle
at Beuzeville, for we learned that no train would start for Etretat
until morning. The damage wrought by the storm of two days before had
not yet been repaired, the wires were still down, and we were warned
that the road was badly washed in places.
Luckily for us, the moon soon arose, so that we got forward without
much difficulty, though slowly; and an hour before midnight we pulled
up triumphantly before the Hotel Blanquet, the principal inn of
Etretat. We lost no time in getting to bed; for we wished to be up
betimes in the morning, and I fell asleep with the comforting belief
that we had at last eluded Monsieur Martigny.
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