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. "We can say good-by here as well as on the platform."