"Paris is no distance off in these days. You'll soon be running over to see us all again. And we will take care of Jean."
"Yes, do!"
Jean was quiet and rather white. Laying a gloved hand on her aunt's, she was amazed to have it carried to Madame Collier's lips.
"Aunt Marie! Don't!"
"You'll be a good girl, I know, to your father!" jerked out Madame Collier, thrusting away the hand, as if ashamed of her own emotion, while her chest heaved. "I'm sure to have left—something—behind me! Eleven packages—and—But I'm glad to have seen you again, Jem. Oswald was to have been here. Didn't come, of course, just at last. And they said you were—out of Town."
"Till late last night," said Jem, touched by Madame Collier's manful struggles. He had not known before the strength of feeling which underlay her rugged shell. He bent forward, with a glance of apology towards Jean, and murmured something into Madame Collier's ear.
"I can't hear. Say it again. No—really? I am glad! Things do come about queerly. Mind you don't change your mind. Oh, keep off—there's the whistle. Don't get knocked down and killed, whatever you do. I wouldn't have that on my conscience! Good-bye, Stewart. Good-bye, Jean. Keep off—trains are so dangerous. I am glad, Jem! Bah, what a whiff of tobacco! Good-bye."
The poke bonnet continued to waggle till out of sight.
Jem turned to look at Jean.
"Excuse my whisper," he said. "I'll tell you by-and-by what I said."